


Call of the Void

by RissaWolf



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Torture, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Magic, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, Forbidden Love, Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Emily Kaldwin, Murder, Near Death Experiences, Out of Character (Outsider), Psychological Trauma, Religious Cults, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22962457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RissaWolf/pseuds/RissaWolf
Summary: Lenora Copperspoon was born of flesh, bone and blood--in the womb of dark magic.In the aftermath of the coup, her mother Delilah showed her true face. As punishment for assisting Emily Kaldwin in her escape from Dunwall Tower, Lenora was locked away at the Addermire Institute.In losing Delilah's favor, Lenora caught the attention of someone else. The Outsider; the ever-watchful god of the Void. In him, she found the dark truth about her rebirth. In her, the Outsider felt true understanding.The Void had reshaped them both. Delilah was a threat the Outsider could no longer abide. Emily was capable, but it would take more than a dethroned Empress to save the Isles from the witch's corruption.
Relationships: Corvo Attano & The Outsider, Delilah Copperspoon & The Outsider, Emily Kaldwin & Original Character(s), Emily Kaldwin & The Outsider, The Outsider (Dishonored)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 45





	1. Blood and Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for showing interest in this fanfiction! I have become obsessed with the lore of Dishonored. In particular, the Outsider. There's a distinct lack of Outsider-slash fics, so I decided to write my own. Enjoy!

Deep, rumbling notes reverberated up from beneath ebony waves, so powerful they upset the rhythm of her beating heart. Prolonged notes of discomfort which gradually extended into melodic, rippling wails of lament.

Whale song.

Numb to the icy undercurrent, even as the warmth was slowly leeched from her flesh, Lenora submerged herself under the agitated waves. Vibrant crimson Hagfish swam past with disinterest. Most of the sealife tolerated her presence; even the most aggressive and bloodthirsty creatures loathed by the people of Serkonos.

The coldblooded inhabitants of the ocean accepted her more readily than those who dwelled upon dry land.

The palace servants tended to her whims by the order of Duke Luca Abele. Dutifully, they prepared her baths, delivered her meals, and entertained her curious inquiries. On several occasions, however, she overheard their complaints whilst they mopped the floors outside her private chamber, where her bare feet left puddles of saltwater and traces of ocher sand.

" _Strange child_ ," one servant muttered to the other, " _We could spare ourselves trouble if we kept her in an aquarium. Just take care to remember to sprinkle her dinner over the top, and mind not to tap the glass_."

None of the servants dared to breathe a word of it outside the palace walls, but the circumstances of Lenora's birth were outside the realm of _natural_. Her mother and Duke Luca both insisted there was nothing shameful about the arcane method of her birth, or the magic which hummed through her veins. 

_"You are of flesh, bone, and blood. My blood, little minnow; therefore you are my daughter."_

Her first memory was of drowning, more or less; inhaling the solution in which her body had been submerged. That first breath had tasted of rose petals, copper and ash. A shallow pool, filled with bittersweet saltwater, thickened by the power of the Void. Several witnesses had gathered around the "womb"; among them were Duke Luca Abele, and Breanna Ashworth.

Over the three years since her birth, Lenora rarely saw her elusive mother, who came and went like the tides. Left in Duke Luca's charge, she was doted upon like she was his own firstborn. Despite that fondness, Luca Abele seldom offered explanations or hints regarding her mother's whereabouts. Neither would he divulge the truth about her creation. Perhaps he did not understand the arcane enough to explain it. Lenora suspected that he meant to spare her of the uncomfortable fact; she was an abomination, an insult to the laws of the universe.

In spite of the Duke's effort to shelter her from the world, Lenora heard plenty due to eavesdropping on the servants and Grand Guard. Frantic whispers warned of one Vice Overseer Liam Byrne, and his presence in Karnaca. They feared prosecution by the Abbey of the Everyman. Though it was unlikely the Overseers would find the time--or the nerve--to investigate rumors of heresy at the Grand Palace. Duke Luca dismissed these concerns, threatening to execute them himself if they brought up the matter again. His more... _agreeable_ body double suggested to have Doctor Hypatia diagnose Lenora with some acute skin disorder. One previously unknown to medicine.

Lenora ignored the palace gossip to the best of her ability. An effort she found much easier when submerged in the shallow pool, or her secluded bathtub. Nothing quelled the heartache quite like the ocean waves, where she felt most at peace. Even then, as the current rocked her like an infant in a cradle, she heard the keening call of the great Leviathan of the deep. A reminder that she was something partially removed from human.

Entranced by the wordless lyrics, she floated deeper into the dark waters, grazing her palms over the clay-rich seabed. It was there, humming along with the mournful hymns, she felt the faintest of heartbeats against her left palm. No bubbles escaped the sand, which would have been a sign of a living creature hidden underneath. Heat radiated against her palm, igniting her curiosity and prompting the girl to dig manicured fingernails into the sodden earth. Once the cloud of red-tinted sediment dissipated, the source of the strange heartbeat became visible. A fragment of bone.

Prying the peculiar object from its grave, she felt it begin to vibrate erratically, emitting an excited song as if awakened from a long slumber. Able to remain submerged for extended periods of time, at ease underwater, Lenora cradled the object to her chest. It produced intense heat, chiming loudly in her possession. Its lullaby alleviated the ache of loneliness, until she felt light and blissful.

She knew exactly what it was; a bonecharm, lost or discarded, imbibed with ancient magic. It sang with a unique voice, whispering indecipherable things unknown to all but the Void. Fractured whalebone engraved with ancient symbols, shaped in the likeness of a lovely crescent moon.

Lenora, in her spare time, read many things about runes and bonecharms. This was the first one she had seen outside of illustrations, unclaimed. It had belonged to no one but the sea, until it revealed itself to her. Had it _chosen_ her? That notion was most pleasing to a girl who had access to a vast collection of clothes, books, and shiny things, but very few _belongings_.

Bonecharm in hand, she propelled herself to the surface. Inhaling the spice-scented air, she was in a refreshed state of mind. Quite adept in the water, she swam to shore faster than a fisherman could reel in a line. Her clothes laid on the rock where she left them. Most people were ashamed of their nakedness, but she preferred it for a simple reason.

Pulling the nightgown over her head, Lenora grimaced as the fabric dragged over her scales. Patches of them covered her arms, shoulders, and hips; blue and green, with flecks of black, fused to her milky-white skin. Only a handful of the palace servants had seen them. Those who did hardly concealed their revulsion, but none spoke of it in fear of the Duke's temper. His intent was to protect Lenora, but it resulted in the servants fearing _her._ So much did they fear, they behaved like phantoms. Lately, her meals would appear like magic and she heard not even the shuffling of feet. 

With the recent absence of Duke Luca--and his double too preoccupied for conversation--Lenora found herself drawn to the beach, day and night.

High rock walls surrounded the rather secluded area of the cape. The elaborate, sharp angles of the Grand Palace sat on the shoreline, where several acres of land were closed off from the rest of Karnaca. A stone archway had been carved into the cliffside, where steps lead up to the grassy field overlooking the beach. Beyond the lush green hills, secure walls enclosed the estate; the beach was inaccessible from anywhere else in the city. One had to walk through the Grand Palace itself, or sprout wings and fly over the walls. Lenora found it quite peaceful, if not a bit lonely.

Twirling the bonecharm in her fingers, she appreciated its company. On impulse, she brought it to her lips. Its constant hum became erratic, for a brief moment, before settling back into its normal rhythm. Saltwater and clay mingled with a different flavor, unlike any Serkonan spices she tasted. It was a sharp, distinct flavor, reminiscent of ash and something bittersweet.

A strange energy occupied the air behind her; similar to how it felt when standing too close to an Arc Pylon, prickling over her damp skin. Lenora was highly sensitive to such things, able to identify whomever was near before she looked. The presence was unknown, and very strong; it chilled her deeper than the coldest ocean current. 

In an unexpected gust of wind, the presence vanished like a cloud of smoke. Replacing it was a familiar aura she had not felt in months. "Mother!"

_"Hello, sweet child. I have missed you."_

Arms unfurled like the wings of a great bird, Delilah appeared before her, the black feathers around her collar dripping as if slick with oil. The substance clung to her whenever she used her Void magic. 

Overjoyed to see her mother, who never spoke but kindly to her, Lenora rushed forward into her embrace. "I have missed you terribly! Luca refused to hint as to when you would return to Karnaca."

Unbothered by the girl's sea-drenched state, Delilah tenderly stroked a gloved hand over her tangled, wet black hair. " _Nothing done out of malice, sweet girl. He wanted not to spoil the surprise."_

Green eyes sparkling with the exuberance of a much younger child, Lenora repeated, "Surprise?"

Delilah's black-smudged eyes, blue as glacial ice, glistened with tantalizing secrets. Whatever she had been up to over the past few years, it had remained a mystery to the sheltered Lenora. At last, her mother revealed what she and the Duke had so masterfully kept silent.

_"Rejoice, little minnow. We're going home. Tomorrow, we sail for Dunwall."_


	2. A Tense Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter overlaps the cutscene in Dishonored 2, during the coup. I kept it short and sweet. Consider it a refresher, just to set the stage for the next chapter. Lena is powerless in the moment, so her presence doesn't alter the events. The next chapter will be different, so bear with me!
> 
> *Under the process of editing but no major changes have been made.*

Needless slaughter for material gain; this was her first impression of Dunwall. Blood stained the old stone beneath her boots. Each step echoed wails of suffering, from a not so distant past.

Whale oil had always been valuable, but as the whale population dwindled it became a far more precious commodity. Dunwall, as the capital city of Gristol, relied heavily upon their import and export of whale byproduct. Most people enjoyed the luxury of oil-powered technology without a second thought. Lenora, however, was burdened with her ability to interpret whale song.

Doing her best not to dwell on the visions of gutted whales moaning, on the verge of death, Lenora imagined instead how their arrival would be recieved. Emily; the beautiful Empress, whose face adorned tapestries hung over the streets of Karnaca. Over the past three years, Lenora dreamt of the moment she would meet her older cousin. Would she feel happy, reunited with long-lost relatives? 

Nervous, she absentmindedly scratched at the fabric which irritated the scales of her forearm. A tear dripped from her eye against her wishes, catching the attention of the woman seated beside her.

 _"What troubles you, little minnow?"_ Delilah asked in her soft, two-toned voice, ceasing her daughter's compulsive scratching with the light touch of a gloved hand. 

"Mother, do you really think..." Lenora cut herself off to swallow, uncertain if she wanted to hear the answer. "Do you think Emily will like me?"

Delilah laughed; a delicate fluttering in her chest, like ruffled feathers. The silky fabric of her glove lightly brushed over the vibrant, glittering scales which peeked out of Lenora's jacket sleeve. Aware of her insecurity, Delilah reassured her in a confident tone, " _Her mother Jessamine was my sister_ _. By blood, we are family. She will accept you, my sweet minnow; scales and all."_

Jostled to a halt, the automated carriage--which carried them from the dock through the city--finally reached the outer gate.

"Lady Delilah," someone greeted in a regal manner. It was Duke Luca Abele, come to escort them the rest of the way. Wearing a pristine white tailored jacket, accented by red and gold, he looked quite refined. He opened the door of the carriage, offering the woman his hand. 

" _My Duke,"_ Delilah greeted in turn, rising with unfettered grace to accept his hand. Once she had stepped down, it was Lenora's turn.

"Lena," the Duke spoke, assisting her in the big step down from the carriage. He placed a suave kiss atop her hand, smiling, "My dear girl, you look breathtaking. True birds of a feather."

Birds of a feather, he said. Lenora shared her mother's inky black hair, but her appearance was much softer. In contrast to Delilah's dark crimson and black attire, Lenora wore a fitted white, ruffled blouse which tied around her neck to conceal her scales. Over it, an ocean blue, corset-like vest with patterns of silver thread woven through the fabric. From the waist down, she wore green trousers and black knee-length boots. No kohl smudged her emerald green eyes; she felt no compulsion to look so fierce.

It was no secret how infatuated Duke Luca Abele was with her mother. Delilah knew, and often teased him with subtle flirtation, but she was a busy woman. If they had any romantic history, it was a thing of the past.

" _I presume your men are prepared,"_ Delilah spoke again, hands perched atop her hips. His flattery went unreciprocated, as she had other formal concerns.

"Indeed, they are, my Lady. If you would like, I made special arrangements. A palanquin, for your comfort. I felt it would make for a dramatic reveal."

" _Ahh,"_ she purred in fascination, as several men came forward with the aforementioned contraption. " _How exciting. Lena, my dear, you will join me."_

Among their escort party were a pair of towering bronze-and-gold, skeletal mechanical things. They were several feet taller than the largest men serving in the Grand Guard. Atop their shoulders were heads molded in the likeness of bird skulls, with sharp beaks that glinted in the sunlight. Stranger still, they had four long arms which tapered into deadly, sharpened blades. 

"What are those metal men?" Lenora inquired of Duke Luca, using the term 'men' _very_ loosely.

The Duke turned to look, as if unsure what she referred to. "Ah, yes. Those are Jindosh's invention. He calls them 'Clockwork Soldiers'."

"They look scary."

The Duke chuckled at her childish observation, unfolding his hands from behind his back to clamp them over her shoulders. "Pay them no mind. The only ones who must fear, are those who threaten the Empress."

_"Come, minnow, sit with me."_

Instructed by her mother, Lenora reluctantly pried her eyes from the monstrosities to the palanquin. Delilah had already settled herself down on the cushion, and extended a hand to beckon her closer. Once she joined Delilah, a member of the Grand Guard tugged the curtain shut. A giggle escaped the girl's mouth as the contraption lifted off the ground. It was a strange feeling, to be carried aloft on a portable throne. 

Heart aflutter, Lenora could hardly contain her nerves, but confidence radiated from her mother in droves. Idly, she hoped for some of it to absorb into her own skin. 

Silent but pulsing in sync with her heartbeat, the bonecharm grew hot. The night before, she fashioned it into a pendant to wear around her neck. Tucked into the collar of her blouse, it rested directly over her chest. On the ship, it had kept the ocean chill at bay; now, it produced so much heat it almost scorched her flesh. Lenora pressed her hand over it, as if to soothe its frantic vibrations.

It continued to throb, distracting her from the mechanical soldiers' grinding and the sound of the grand doors being opened. 

Delilah snagged her free hand, capturing her attention. She examined the panicked look on her daughter's face and smiled, assuming she was anxious about the big reveal. " _Remain at my side, minnow. We go together."_

"His Grace Luca Abele, Duke of Serkonos!" a man announced from within the throne room.

Loud clanking reverberated off the walls, as the Clockwork Soldiers lead their escort party into Dunwall Tower. It sounded like swords being struck together; an unsettling racket that set her teeth on edge.

"Your Imperial Majesty, and Royal Protector Corvo Attano, a native of our homeland," the Duke greeted them graciously, his voice slightly muffled by the thick curtains. "Serkonos offers its condolences on this sorrowful day, and gifts to remind you of our nation. The rising star on the southern horizon."

"We thank you, your Grace," the Empress spoke formally, her voice light and musical.

"Save your thanks. For now, I give you the greatest gift of all; family. I present the lost sister of Jessamine Kaldwin. Your rightful Empress, Delilah Kaldwin. And her daughter, Lenora Kaldwin."

Shocked protests rang out from the loyal supporters gathered in the room. One could be heard, close to the throne, "Impossible!"

 _Rightful Empress?_ That boded much different circumstances than a mere reunion. 

Despite their clear disapproval, Delilah exited the palanquin and tugged Lenora along by the hand, stepping into full view. There, seated on her throne with a look of bewilderment, was Emily Kaldwin. First, her alarmed eyes locked onto the lithe form of Delilah approaching, before she rested a guarded stare on Lenora. Two men joined her on the platform. Mortimer Ramsey was to the Empress' left. And to her right, Corvo Attano, her father and Royal Protector.

" _My dearest niece. Hello_ ," Delilah purred, halting at the foot of the stairs before the throne. 

"It's not true," Corvo declared, attempting to silence the perturbed muttering from their audience. In the same breath, he challenged Delilah, dismissing the legitimacy of her claims.

Towing her stunned daughter along, Delilah ascended the steps toward Corvo, meeting his challenge directly. " _My father was Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin, and Jessamine was my younger sister,"_ she elaborated in her defense, cool and collected. 

In that moment, Delilah released Lenora's hand, leaving her to stand before Corvo alone. Petrified but concealing it well, she met his combat-hardened stare.

Threads of silver ran through his dark brown hair, but his age did not make the Royal Protector any less formidable. Thick stubble lined his strong jaw; most unusual for a man in the Imperial Court. Of course, who dared to question his grooming habits, when he was the most feared man across the Isles. Native to Serkonos, he had that natural coppery undertone to his complexion, though he lacked the sun-kissed glow. Bearing two important roles, he had little time for leisure activites like sunbathing. Faint scars joined the time-worn lines of his face, detailing a history of bloodshed.

Something felt amiss. The intense, persistent vibrations of the bonecharm rattled her to the core. In the presence of the Royal Protector, it became hot enough to cause sparks of flame if struck. He could sense it, too. His brown eyes narrowed, locking onto the singing object concealed under her blouse, but he bore no hostility towards the innocent girl. 

"Lenora," he acknowledged in a quiet, gravely tone. Despite the grim atmosphere looming overhead, Corvo unhinged his tight jaw to offer her a faint but warm smile. 

Oh, how she imagined this exact moment; rehearsing it like a thespian preparing their lines for a great production. She wanted to greet him as her uncle, but her mouth had gone dry at the thought. Deciding not to anger him personally, Lenora greeted the man by his honorable title, "Royal Protector."

Delilah had paused for a brief moment, watchful of their private exchange. Then she strolled over toward the Empress, hands atop her swaying hips, explaining further, " _At the time of Jessamine's death, I wasn't ready to make myself known to you and I was forced to leave Dunwall,"_ pivoting to face their audience, she finished, " _But now I'm home."_

Emily spoke up, having listened politely: "If you really are my mother's sister, you're welcome to stay as long as you like." Pausing, she looked over to Lenora and smiled, albeit nervously, "Both of you are."

 _"Little sparrow; blackened by bad memories. I'm here to relieve you of your crown,"_ Delilah responded in a honey-sweet tone, correcting her false assumption. " _My father's promise, whispered in secret so many years ago, is now fulfilled."_

Lenora glanced over to her mother, baffled; that had never been disclosed to her. Their visit to Dunwall was meant to be a family gathering. A symbolic reunion, on the anniversary of the kind Empress Jessamine's tragic death. Not this...

"Watch your tongue!" Corvo warned gruffly. Broad shoulders tense with mounting aggression, he pointed in a warning gesture. Stepping toward Delilah, he defended his daughter's right to the throne, "Emily Kaldwin is the daughter of Jessamine Kaldwin."

Delilah stepped close to him, unintimidated. People whispered many dark things of Corvo Attano; some believed he was marked by the Outsider. None of those rumors affected Delilah. Testing the disgruntled man's patience, she caressed his face; he slapped the offending hand away, but otherwise kept his temper in check. 

_"Royal Protector. How naive to think you could get away with these murders,"_ turning her back to him, she wagged a finger in Emily's direction. " _Living in my palace has protected you. But that's over."_

Lenora avoided looking at the anxious Emily, or the bristling Royal Protector beside her. Fists clenched, sparks of magical energy suddenly began to emanate from him. A bluish glow became visible from under the wrappings concealing his left hand. Meeting his intense brown eyes then, she saw the volatile anger and resolve to violence. He truly did possess arcane power, and he was prepared to fight to the death to defend his daughter.

 _"Hear me, all of you."_ Delilah faced the rest of the people in the throne room, announcing, " _Your rightful Empress has returned."_

From there, the mood shifted from perturbed confusion to terrified panic. Skeptical mumbling rose into a crescendo of screams, as the Clockwork Soldiers assumed hostile stances. Drawing their weapons, the Grand Guard and the Empress' own City Watch turned their swords and pistols on Emily's loyal supporters.

"All hail Empress Delilah, the first of her name," Duke Luca pronounced regally, before giving harsh orders, "Arrest Emily Kaldwin and her father for the Crown Killer murders!"

Rigid on her throne, Emily cried out in alarm, "What?" 

Corvo unexpectedly snatched hold of Lenora by the elbow. The girl stiffened, expecting his blade to cross her throat. Instead, he dragged her with him as he stepped in to protect Emily from the encrouching guards. Ushering her over to the throne, he stood in a fierce, defensive stance, shielding them both. Sword drawn, he eyed the three armed men closely. In the background, their loyal supporters were being ruthlessly slaughtered by the Duke's men. 

Magical energy crackled around Corvo; Lenora sensed his power building, before he vanished and reappeared behind one guard. His sword protruded from the man's chest, skewering his heart. Lenora recoiled in disgust when drops of blood splattered her face and the front of her blouse. In the same instant, another guard was decapitated, and the third fell dead with a hard thud. 

In a whirlwind of swift movement, the Royal Protector charged Delilah, appearing directly in front of her. His blade thrust straight for her chest.

"No!" Lenora screamed, but it was too late. 

Delilah was run through, but the fatal wound had no effect; if it was painful, she barely reacted. With the flick of her wrist, she summoned a dark spiral of Void-spawned growth. Thick vines resembling petrified wood coiled around the Royal Protector like a serpent.

"Father!" Emily yelled in a frantic, shrill voice. 

Lenora glanced over to the former Empress, appalled when she witnessed Mortimer Ramsey seize hold of her arm. The man was the Captain of the City Watch; it was his duty to defend the Empress and the citizens of Dunwall. He restrained Emily, exposing himself as part of Delilah's alliance. Infuriated by his betrayal, Emily struck him with a ferocious right hook. The blow was reciprocated by a ruthless backhand, which sent the young woman toppling from her throne, down the steps to land at the feet of Delilah. 

" _Your sword can't still my heart,"_ the witch told Corvo, who was helpless in the grasp of her power. Reaching one hand towards him, she smiled with a smug gleam in her eye. Lenora felt the vortex of dangerous energy swirling in the air, as Delilah absorbed the magic from his bones, stripping him of his abilities. The air reeked of soot, blood and singed flesh.

Once he was weakened, Delilah released the Royal Protector, allowing him to fall into Emily's arms. She tossed his confiscated sword to Ramsey, while father and daughter recovered their footing to stand back-to-back. Their resolve to fight was noble but futile, as they were outnumbered and no match for Delilah's witchcraft.

_"I cast you in cold marble."_

Lenora watched helplessly, as Corvo's flesh transformed into dark stone under Delilah's spell. He fought desperately to reach her--to wrap his hand around her throat--but his willpower was not enough.

"No!" Distraught and furious, Emily lunged for Delilah but was effortlessly swept aside by a gust of wind. Crumpling to the floor, she looked dazed, and defeated. 

" _Sweet girl, over time you will come to love me,"_ Delilah spoke to Emily gently, bending down next to her, joined by Luca. Crouching nearby, the Duke looked upon Emily almost piteously. Tilting her head, Delilah looked to her mortified daughter, amending with a smile, " _To love us. Perhaps someday you'll see me as the mother you lost. But until then, you'll be kept out of trouble."_

"I'll lock Lady Emily in her chambers," Ramsey eagerly volunteered, "Then I'll bring her to Coldridge Prison until her trial."

Lenora yelped in dismay as the man delivered a vicious kick to Emily's face, rendering her unconscious. Covering her mouth, the trembling girl watched as Ramsey dragged the usurped Empress off. 

" _Don't despair, little minnow,"_ Delilah purred, strutting past the statue of Corvo. Stroking a hand along his shoulder almost lovingly, she left him frozen in time, moving in close to Lenora. _"I promised we were going home. And here we are."_

Behind her mother, the throne room floor was strewn with corpses; innocent people, unarmed. A few were still alive, writhing in puddles of their own blood. Lenora tensed when her mother gently caressed her cheek, drying her tears with the fabric of her glove. 

_"Go and rest, sweet daughter. I have other things to attend to."_

Two men of the Grand Guard escorted her upstairs, into a guest room. Closing the door, they left her some privacy. Lenora rushed into the washroom, just in time to slump over the toilet and vomit. Once the nausea passed, she rose shakily and moved to the sink. In the mirror, she glimpsed the smear of blood on her cheek; belonging to the guard Corvo killed. It was nothing compared to the images branded in her mind. All those people, cruelly slain by the Duke's men.

Needless slaughter...for material gain. 

Her impression of Dunwall had not changed.


	3. The Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for violence/abuse. This chapter is more fast-paced. I won't diverge too much from canonical events. Lenora will play a bigger role, soon. Thank you for reading! Let me know what your thoughts are, I love reading comments :)

Powerless; a fish caught in a net, unequipped to disentangle itself. Lenora tore at the white fabric constricting the scales of her arms, whilst she anxiously paced the room in which she had been sealed. The Grand Guard had locked the door from the outside, ensuring the nineteen year old could be of no hinderance, or nuisance. 

For three years since awakening in that accursed pool of magic, she had been deceived. By the Duke, Breanna, Doctor Hypatia, Jindosh, and her own mother. While she naively fantasized of meeting Empress Emily and even Corvo, her elders were working their dark machinations across Serkonos and Dunwall. It was not homesickness that compelled Delilah to return to the place of her birth. No; it was ambition, and her lust for the power--to become Empress of the Isles.

Bitterly, the girl laughed at her own gullible nature. How easy it was to fool someone who desperately longed for the world to be kind. Lenora, whose mind was far younger than her physical form, was blinded by that naivete. 

Loneliness was far more bearable than the horrid sickness in her gut, or the guilt clawing at her tender heart. Back in the throne room, she had been a useless bystander. Defenseless people were torn apart for the crime of loving their Empress. The Royal Protector was rewarded for his courage and fiercely loyal disposition with a curse, forever encased in marble. In the brief moment their eyes met, Lenora saw the hostility melt, just a fraction, as he silently deliberated whether or not to trust her intentions.

Once the bloodshed started, Corvo had seized her by the arm. Taking her hostage in that moment would have given him an edge, but instead, he seemed to be _protecting_ her. Could he have looked into her very soul, deeming her trustworthy? Or had it been a simple impulse; the natural instinct to protect the defenseless? She mourned over the fact she could never consult him on the matter.

Chiming a few urgent notes, the bonecharm around her neck seemed to be urging her to take action. In the next room, Emily was likely out cold, soon to be dragged off to prison by order of the Duke.

The Crown Killer. Lenora overheard some palace gossip about the string of grisly murders back in Karnaca. So, naturally, she researched for herself. All of the victims were openly critical of Emily's reign. There was Correy Brockburn, an entrepreneur in Karnaca and member of the Regenters. Another corpse was found soon thereafter; Janice Tines, Opinions Editor at the Karnaca Gazette. She had been another member of the Regenters. Alarm rose when the third victim was of higher status; Horace Millhouse, senior member of the Parliament. The most recent victim resided in Dunwall: Ichabod Boyle, head of Boyle Industries.

Lenora had done some research on the Regenters, as well. They strongly opposed the Kaldwin dynasty, aiming to return the Empire back under the authoritarian rule of a Lord Regent. The extremist group even made an attempt on Emily's life when she was fourteen. No one would be surprised if the Royal Protector sought to crush their treasonous operation for good.

People in Karnaca were highly suspicious of Corvo Attano. At the young age of nineteen, he was unmatched in close-combat swordsmanship. His skills impressed Duke Theodonis Abele, who gifted him to Emperor Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin. Such feats and loyalty to the crown earned him great love and respect from the people. Following his imprisonment in Coldridge Prison for the murder of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin, public opinion of Corvo changed. Even after he exposed the truth behind her assassination--clearing his name--people whispered of heresy. The superstitious believed he was marked by the Outsider.

Some even speculated Corvo was the Ghost of Dunwall; a fearsome spectre, who cut down the Lord Regent, Hiram Burrows. Following that, he hunted down those who orchestrated the Loyalist Conspiracy. 

Corvo Attano was _very_ good at killing--but he seemed bound to a code of honor.

Lenora understood now the suspicions had been correct. At least, the part about the Royal Protector being marked by the Outsider. His sorcery felt different than Delilah's ominous witchcraft. Like the difference between a cool, electrified stream, and a raging, polluted ocean storm. 

Corvo decapitated a man right before her eyes, yet she just could not condemn him as a monster. If he was the Crown Killer, Lenora would be an armless, headless corpse on the throne room floor. 

Gone was her childish hope to have a true mother-daughter bond with Delilah. Lenora had witnessed firsthand what the woman was capable of. It was no stretch of the imagination to correlate the murders with her plot to overthrow Emily. Delilah would have Emily convicted, no doubt, and there could be only two outcomes. Life in prison, or a public execution. 

"By the Void," Lenora cursed out of frustration. If her cousin was taken to Coldridge, she had no way of staging a prison break. The time to act was now.

Removing a pin from her elegantly-twisted braid, she moved to the door, which the guards had locked. First, she peeked through the keyhole to survey the open corridor. The guards had been discussing something about Captain Ramsey earlier. One stood near a bookshelf in a loft-type of area, which served as a small library of historical and political tomes. 

"Damn it, I have to pee!" he announced to no one in particular, distracting himself by rifling through the books. 

Lenora took advantage of his rather noisy action, inserting her pin into the lock. Gnawing on her lip in concentration, she fiddled with the infernal thing as quietly as possible. The guard turned quite suddenly, causing her to freeze and catch her breath. 

"'Keep alert', he says. Well I _am_ alert to the fact I need to go take a leak."

Mumbling to himself, the guard hustled out of view, his footsteps becoming distant as he sought out the bathroom. Lenora had less than a minute to free herself if she wanted to go unnoticed. Drying her sweat-damped hands on her green trousers, she resumed picking the lock with urgency. 

"Come on, you stubborn--" she whispered impatiently, just as the lock gave way. With a triumphant grin, she turned the knob and silently eased the door open. Some books had been tossed about, which she carefully stepped over to avoid making noise. Her bonecharm chirped a warning; she would be in plain sight, if the guard returned.

At the door leading into the study, where Emily was being held, she began to work on the lock. It was far more complex, which had the girl swearing like an old sailor. Of course the Empress' private study in Dunwall Tower would have better security. 

"Hey, what're you--" 

The guard had finished his bathroom break much sooner than she anticipated. Lenora whipped her head around just in time to see his shadow roughly curl its arm around his neck, choking him until he stopped resisting. Silent as a phantom, the dark figure lowered him to the floor before swiping the key from his belt, along with his pistol--disarming him, should he wake.

Half-crouched like a prowling lioness, Emily eyed the young girl with apprehension and distrust tightening her soft features. Mute in her shock at how easily the mild-mannered former Empress had taken down a man twice her size, Lenora was unsure how inclined Emily was to give her the same treatment. 

"Lady Emily, you're alright. I was worried..."

Distracted by an exhausted female voice nearby, Emily diverted her attention from Lenora and her guarded expression fell into one of dismay. "Alexi," she whispered, moving deeper into the adjoining room out of sight.

Lenora crept over slowly, minding the fallen books and the door which had been forced open off its hinges. Beyond the doorway there was a short hallway connected to three rooms; one was the master bedroom, and the other two were a linen closet and private washroom. 

Slumped against the wall, cradling her deep gut wound, was a pretty red-haired woman in a guard uniform. A trail of blood began near the doorway, leading to where she managed to drag herself. Further into the bedroom, a few feet shy of the bed, were two guards. They were dead, one lying headless over the fine carpet. Alexi must have slain them when the commotion started. She had been absent from the throne room. Captain Ramsey probably sent the guards to dispatch her before she became wise about the coup.

Bending down beside her, Emily clasped one of her bloody hands while placing another on her shoulder. 

"Where's the Royal Protector?" Alexi questioned, struggling to keep her head upright. Her eyelids fluttered sleepily.

"There's a coup underway. My father...he's," Emily fumbled a moment, before finishing, "He's _imprisoned_ , for lack of a better word."

"You've got to get out of the Tower. Through your safe room," the dying woman stressed, before reaching a trembling hand out to present a letter-capsule. She handed it to Emily, as she explained, "There was a Captain, earlier today, down at the docks. Looking for the Royal Protector. Find her. Get out of Dunwall."

Alexi dropped her hand weakly, as the last of her strength was spent in communicating the information. Then she succumbed to the heavy blood loss.

"Alexi," Emily called softly, but the woman had died. Her lip quivered for a moment, before she reigned in her emotions. "I'm sorry. Goodbye..."

Lenora watched her read the message contained in the metal capsule, keeping her distance so as not to come across as a threat. When Emily finished reading, and tucked the note into her pocket, she once again focused her attention on the girl.

"Lenora," she pronounced her name in a clear, regal tone, but quietly. "That was your name, correct?"

The girl nodded before shyly clarifying, "I prefer Lena."

"Lena, then," Emily acknowledged, waving her fingers inward to call her in closer. Spying the weapon lying on the floor beside Alexi, she carefully lifted it. Lenora recognized it as the same blade Corvo wielded, when he tried to end Delilah in the throne-room. In a quick motion, Emily flicked her father's sword in a way that caused it to fold in half. Securing the pacified weapon to her belt, Emily smiled; a ghost briefly visible before it vanished.

"I'm sorry," Lenora expressed her sympathy and remorse, looking toward the deceased woman, "About your friend."

Emily bowed her head for a moment, in danger of letting the grief overcome her self-preservation. "Alexi was my dearest friend," she amended with a mournful smile, "She saved my life, when both of us were still children. Not much younger than you are now. Even before that day, we were inseparable."

Hearing just how deeply the loss affected her, Lenora was tempted to give her a hug, but thought better of it.

"Ramsey," Emily hissed then, speaking his name like a vulgarity, "He was the one who stabbed her; I was there, but my head..." scrunching her face, she gingerly touched the swollen welt over her brow from Ramsey's boot. "He stole something from me. My signet ring. I have to get it back."

"Why did he take your ring?" the younger girl asked in confusion, wondering why she would risk being captured or killed for a piece of jewelry. 

Emily rose from her crouched position, waving for her to follow as she moved deeper into the bedroom. Approaching the wall, she pointed at an odd panel with a small indentation; some kind of mechanism. "My ring fits in here. It's a safe room. My best chance of getting out of Dunwall alive." 

Lenora fidgeted with her sleeve, prompting Emily to glance down at her nervous motions. Her eyebrows lifted in a subtle display of surprise, but that was her only outward reaction to seeing the pattern of scales on her skin. Nothing about her disposition toward Lena changed, but she was likely suspicious about her abnormal _condition._

"How can I help?" Lenora asked, wishing not to discuss the subject of her unnatural birth. 

Emily blinked, shifting her thoughts back to the predicament she found herself in. "Ramsey will be here, soon, I suspect. I need you to distract him, if you can."

"How?"

Pondering that for a moment, Emily walked a few paces while staring at the floor, before she turned to look at the corner near the fireplace. "The harp."

Thoroughly bewildered, Lenora stepped around so she could look at the tall musical instrument tucked near the wall. 

Emily proposed her plan concisely, "When Ramsey comes up those stairs, start playing. It should distract him long enough."

During her three years living in the Grand Palace of Serkonos, Lenora had learned and studied about many exciting things. Playing the harp--or any instrument--had not been part of her education. "What should I play?"

Huffing out of exasperation, Emily replied shortly, "It doesn't matter. Smash the damn thing if you would rather. Just distract the rotten bastard so I can slice his head off!"

Lenora could hardly blame her for the outburst, but the slightly older woman heaved a quiet sigh of regret. Brushing a loose hair from her eyes, she recollected herself before turning to Lenora again.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, leveling a sincere look at her, "I give you my word, I won't kill him. With your help, it won't have to come to that. Stay here; I'll go find Ramsey."

Nodding to convey her understanding, Lenora moved over to the harp and ran her fingers along its smooth, curved spine. Light on her feet, Emily crept over to the guard she incapacitated earlier. Dragging him down the corridor into the bathroom, she closed the door. Then she snuck out of the room, climbing up onto the railing of the library area. She dropped down out of sight, without making a sound. Several minutes passed and Lenora began to fear she had been captured, or injured. 

Just as her anxiety peaked, she heard the heavy footsteps as someone climbed the stairs. "What, is no one on duty here?" a gruff male voice barked out, "Where in the Void did everyone go?"

Heart pounding, she panicked, unsure how to play the harp. Emily was right; it mattered little whether or not she had musical talent. Curling a finger around one of the thicker strings, she plucked it hard. Then she repeated the action, plucking other strings at random. The high-pitched vibrations caused a ringing in her ears, as they resounded through the open space. 

"Outsider's crooked cock," the disgruntled man cursed tersely as he rounded the corner. Mortimer Ramsey scowled in displeasure, agitated by the incessant racket. "Lenora?" he grunted out her name, becoming more aggressive with every step. He was quite a physically imposing man, with a very unkind look about his face. If he smiled, it was cold and malicious. He had grinned like a fiend when he kicked Emily in the face. But Ramsey was not smiling at Lenora; he was scowling. "What in the fuck are you doing here, out of your room?"

Slipping behind the harp, wedged in the corner, Lenora dared to pluck another string. Ramsey flinched at the sharpness of the sound and rubbed his temple, bending his head as he fended off a migraine. Jaw tightening, he glowered at the accursed instrument before he jammed a warning finger in the air and spat, "Enough of this childish shit, _princess._ Go back to your room."

There was no sign of Emily sneaking up behind him; had she found an alternative route to escape Dunwall Tower? 

"Have you gone deaf?" Ramsey growled, far too close for her liking; the harp was the only obstacle blocking his path. "Come out from there, right now, or you'll regret--"

Another high, sharp note interrupted his threat. Lenora knew it would cause his temper to flare, but the severity of it was more violent than she expected.

"Enough!" he shouted, grabbing hold of the instrument with his large, brutish hands. In a frightening display of his short fuse, he smashed the harp against the wall and snapped the remains under his boots. Then he grabbed Lenora and pointed a threatening finger in her face. "I know _exactly_ what you're doing, girl. If Emily Kaldwin isn't in that room, you better pray to the Outsider."

Ramsey yanked her roughly by the arm, nearly dislocating it as he dragged her from the bedroom and over to the door of Emily's study. He fished a spare key from his pocket, which he used to unlock the door. Lenora whimpered, trying to wriggle free of his grip, but his fist tightened like a vice.

"I'm warning you, girl," he grunted, before shouldering the door open. Ramsey swept his flaming eyes over the room and looked _very_ upset that Emily was missing. Whirling around, he grabbed Lenora by the neck, hard enough to elicit a scream of terror. Removing his hand from her throat, he used it to cover her mouth.

"I knew it, you scheming little bitch," the man snarled, teeth bared. He shook the petite girl roughly by the arm, rattling her bones. Spittle flew from his snarling lips as he demanded answers, "Where is she hiding? Tell me!"

Lenora shook her head vehemently, disrupting the hand he pressed over her mouth. Her teeth sank into the flesh around his thumb, hard enough to cause him significant pain. Ramsey roared like a wild beast, relinquishing his hold so she would let go. With a quick glance, he observed his hand; no blood was drawn, but he was extremely pissed off. 

Backhanded with excessive force, Lenora lost her balance and hit the floor. The taste of blood filled her mouth, as inflammation began to sear her face where his hard knuckles struck her cheekbone. 

"Delilah won't like me killing you," Ramsey huffed out aggressively, looming above her with violent intent, "but when I'm through, you'll wish I had."

Shielding her face when he lifted his boot, Lenora regretted nothing in that mokent. If Emily got away, she would accept a beating.

Ramsey never brought his boot down. Instead, he let out an awful choking sound. The infuriated snarl on his face had become a twisted expression of shock, and pain. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, as his insides were punctured. A dark figure stood behind him, with their assassin's blade impaled sideways through his ribs. 

"'That'll be all', _Ramsey_ ," the assassin pronounced in a spiteful growl. 

Wrenching the blade free of his ribcage, Emily shoved him so he would fall sideways instead of landing on top of Lenora. He was dead before his body hit the floorboards. Cleaning the blood from her father's sword, Emily then crouched next to the dazed girl.

"Are you alright?" she asked, ghosting a hand over the large welt on her cheek. 

"I'm fine," Lenora replied a bit shakily, "Thank you."

"I'm sorry, I got...distracted," Emily admitted shamefully, adding in a sad voice, "My father."

"Your ring," Lenora reminded her, steering the subject away from what almost happened. 

Emily blinked as if she had forgotten entirely. She half-crawled over to Ramsey, lifting his brutish hand, and reclaimed what he stole. Immediately, she slid the ring over the middle finger of her left hand. To herself, she vowed, "This ring won't leave my hand again."

Relief mingled with dread in her stomach. Lenora never got seasick, but imagined this was how it felt; the instability and dizziness. Emily helped her rise from the floor and lead her by the hand, returning to her private quarters where her safe room waited. Inserting the signet ring into the keyhole, she turned her wrist and something clicked. 

Gears and other mechanisms turned within the wall, as the door slid open to reveal the secret room beyond. There was a lounge area with two armchairs, a long table serving as a workbench, a comfortable-looking bed, and several armored safes. 

While Emily busied herself with gathering a few supplies--including a black-and-white pistol and telescopic device--Lenora let her curiosity run rampant.

"Who's Wyman?" she blurted out.

Emily fumbled with the gold bar she meant to put in her supply pouch. "W-who? Uhm," she cleared her throat, embarrassed and failing to conceal it. "A friend."

Lenora giggled like a child, "Are you lying, your Majesty?"

Emily deadpanned for a long moment, before she allowed her regal composure to crack. Laughing out loud, she walked over and playfully snatched the letter from Lena's hand. "It's rude to snoop, you know."

"Sorry."

"No harm done," Emily dismissed her indiscretion, whilst not-so-discreetly rolling up the note and tucking it into her pouch. Her kind brown eyes lingered on the bruise where Ramsey struck her. "Come with me," she proposed quite suddenly. 

Honored by the offer, Lenora almost burst into tears, knowing that she would only be a danger. "I can't..."

Emily reached for her hand. "Yes, you can. Listen. There's a ship called the Dreadful Wale. The captain was looking for my father; to warn him. She knew this would happen. I can't promise much, but I refuse to leave you behind. Not after what happened with Ramsey."

"You don't understand," Lenora protested ruefully, "Delilah says ' _our bond of blood is stronger than flesh and bone_ '. Wherever I go, she will find me."

Considering what happened to her father, Emily knew it would be unwise to underestimate the witch's power. It pained her to leave a defenseless girl to face unknown consequences, but she could not run the risk of a strange "bond" giving Delilah an edge. Lips pouted and brow furrowed, she knew there was one way to help Lenora.

The girl was shocked when Emily pulled her into an embrace; it was tentative, but affectionate. 

"Thank you, Lena. I won't forget this," she expressed her gratitude, leaving an unspoken promise to find her when all was said and done. "There are enough rations in here to live comfortably for weeks. Help yourself. Stay out of trouble."

"What--" 

Giving no further warning, Emily spun her around and curled an arm around her neck. Lenora wanted to ask what the hell she was doing, but all she could do was gasp for air to no avail. "I'm sorry," she heard Emily whisper, before she sank into blackness.

By the time Lenora regained consciousness, rubbing her sore neck, Emily had vanished _and_ sealed the safe room from the inside. 

With no means of escape--Anton Sokolov had designed the lock to be impenetrable--Lena occupied herself with admiring the drawings Emily made when she was a child. Some of them were unsettling, reminiscent of the trauma she experienced in the weeks following her mother's death. Hours passed, which she spent reading a book detailing the early life of Corvo Attano. Of course, she read it before, but it was better than staring at the walls or crying pathetically into the pillows.

Dunwall Tower was eerily silent, meaning Emily either finished off the guards, or the safe room repelled sound. Curled up on the bed, Lenora clutched her bonecharm. Its frantic, ominous chimes had dulled into a faint, soothing hum. Forming a ritualistic habit, she brought the object to her lips. 

Half-asleep then, she was only vaguely aware of the presence which joined her in the tightly-sealed room. Static energy prickled the back of her neck, as the air cooled, smelling of the sea and damp earth. Lenora smiled, imagining herself on the beach in Karnaca. She must have dreamt of the hand gently petting over her hair. Comforted by the bonecharm, she drifted to sleep.

Glass shattered, waking her from her slumber with a cry of alarm. The safe room had gone dark; storm winds gusted in through the broken window, extinguishing the candles. Lenora remained on the bed, hands over her chest while she looked around in panic. 

" _Naughty, naughty,"_ a dry, grating voice taunted from the darkness. They dragged out the syllables, and cackled maniacally. 

Something pounced on her with the agility of a predatory animal. Bandages masked her hooded assailant's face, reeking of old blood. Their identity and gender were impossible to place; all that she could see were sadistic, crazed eyes. Lenora screamed as sharp fingernails bit into her skin, ice cold hands pinning her down. Some kind of rag was forced into her mouth; unbeknownst to her, it was soaked in chloroform. 

_"You've been naughty, little girl. Time for your punishment!"_


	4. Trading Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning for torture/graphic violence.*
> 
> So this chapter is quite dark. Fair warning! No sexual violence, though. Promise. Guess who decided to finally show up? About time, I say.

Muted daylight was barely enough to illuminate the room, weakened by the dark veil of clouds and dirt-caked windows. No candles were lit to aid her bleary green eyes, as Lenora woke in a strange place. Vague memories trickled in slow increments. A hooded figure with no face; damp rags smothering her mouth; a ship groaning as its battered hull fought stormy waves.

Someone had kidnapped her from Dunwall Tower; that much was obvious. Where in the Void had they taken her?

Lenora would have explored the dark room, but her arms and legs were bound. Thick straps of rough fabric were fastened to the metal frame of the bed underneath her; so tight, her mobility was restricted to a pitiful squirming. Her white, ruffled blouse and green trousers had been stripped, leaving her half-nude in a very undignified position. 

Without a layer of protective clothing, her skin was exposed to the horrid chill in the air. Addermire Institute; she recognized the atmosphere and familiar architecture. Sometimes the Duke allowed her to visit Alexandria Hypatia--well, in spirit. The Good Doctor was more elusive than even Delilah. Most of the time, Lenora spent two or three days exploring Addermire, and enjoyed "sun therapy" as Hypatia called it.

Doctor Hypatia had examined Lenora shortly after her "birth" at the Grand Palace. The woman was brilliant and gentle-natured, if not a bit _troubled._ She often engaged in two-sided conversations with herself. It was like she could hear a voice inaudible to anyone else. The source of her knowledge, perhaps.

Lenora was only permitted to visit Addermire Institute three times. After that, Duke Luca forbade it. He declared that Doctor Hypatia should not be disturbed, and the Institute was reserved only for the terminally ill. 

Something had changed. There was a thickness in the air which made it difficult to breathe, tasting of mine dust. Worse, the stench of rot seeped from the very walls. Her teeth chattered in the freezing cold; no heat was being circulated through the building. Addermire was isolated on a rocky island, surrounded by the ocean, susceptible to the strong winds and moisture. If there were any patients suffering from Bloodfly Fever, they would surely perish from hypothermia.

Along with her clothes, something else had been stolen from her.

Her bonecharm! Its abscense left a cold, empty hole in Lenora's chest. Alone and shivering in the dark, she longed for its heat more than ever. 

Volatile energy disrupted the atmosphere, snapping her attention over to the door before it creaked open. Faint beams of light outlined a tall, lanky figure as they entered. 

" _Naughty,"_ came that ghoulish voice, like the sound of metal scraping against stone. Stalking closer with the movements of a predator, half-crouched, the hooded stranger chuckled as the helpless girl thrashed against her restraints. " _What a naughty thing to do. Helping poor, orphan Emily escape. Yes..."_

Lenora watched her kidnapper nervously, uncertain of what to expect as they closed in. Tight around her skin, the binding straps burned from the friction her squirming caused. Mortified and confused, her voice shook as she questioned the hooded stranger, "Where is Doctor Hypatia?" 

" _Where, oh where?"_ the stranger taunted with another laugh, imitating the sound of gravel disturbed underfoot. " _Close, close, but asleep. Her work is tiring, yes, very tiring. My sister; so dedicated to coddling the weak."_

Evident by their choice of words, her captor did not share Alexandria's passion for curing the sick and mending wounds. By contrast, they seemed to delight in terrorizing others by sowing fear and inflicting pain.

Previously unaware that Alexandria Hypatia had a sibling, Lenora observed the mysterious stranger. Bandages still masked half of their face, along with a crimson scarf, but dark brown hair stuck out from under their hood. A tangled mess, which left but one eye visible. That wild, bloodshot eye locked onto Lenora, never faltering as they circled like a lion on the hunt. 

"Who are you?" the girl asked, unnerved by how close they were getting to the bed.

Switching direction, the masked stranger circled back from the left side over to the right. In a sudden motion, they leapt up onto the bed, straddling her midsection. Lenora became tense, sinking down into the mattress but unable to move away. Blood-soaked fingernails poked into her skin, as their cold hand grabbed hold of her jaw.

" _Call me Grim,"_ they answered in a low growl, _"Yes, Grim will do."_

Lenora knew an alias when she heard one. Whoever this person was, their identity was protected for a reason. 

" _What shall I do with you?"_ Grim pondered aloud, hovering so close the rotten smell of old blood was overpowering. " _I want to peel off your pretty little scales, one by one. Strip them away, like descaling a Hagfish. Mmm, yes!"_

"No, you can't!" she yelled, loathing the sharp fingernails that dragged over the patch of scales on her left arm. "Empress Delilah is my mother. She won't allow it!"

Emitting a growl of aggravation, Grim squeezed her jaw, digging their fingers hard into her cheek. _"Yes, Delilah told me not to kill you. There are ways to strip the flesh without killing. Many, many ways."_

"It was you. All the murders," Lenora deduced, breathing hard but refusing to simply beg and cower. It was hardly coincidental Grim bore resemblance to the imposing figure depicted on the wanted posters. " _You're_ the Crown Killer. Not Corvo."

 _"Careful, careful,"_ Grim hissed in a warning tone, loosening the grip on her chin to wrap long fingers around her throat. " _Do you like keeping secrets, Lenora? I have many, many secrets. You know one. And I know your secret. Oh yes, Empress Delilah will be most displeased if she knew."_

Confusion tightened her brow, as Lenora wondered what in the Void the maniac was speaking about. Delilah was aware that she assisted Emily in her escape from Dunwall Tower after the coup. What kind of "secret" would anger her vindictive witch of a mother further?

Grim reached their free hand into the pocket of their jacket, producing a familiar object of bone, carved with symbols. It whispered incomprehensible things in a long-dead language. 

Lenora held silent, but the recognition and longing was obvious in her eyes.

" _The Outsider watches,"_ the crazed murderer sneered in a derisive growl, " _Tsk-tsk. You should know better. Consorting with the enemy. T_ _he Empress will be quite angry, if I show her what you've been hiding."_

"What do you mean 'the enemy'?"

Thanks to Duke Luca, her knowledge had been _deliberately limited_ , but she knew the Outsider had marked her mother long ago--decades before Lenora was "born". How could Delilah despise the god of the Void, to whom she owed eternal gratitude for the power and title she now possessed? Perhaps she resented the fact others had been chosen, like Corvo Attano.

" _Ah, ah, no more secrets."_ Grim covered her mouth with a filthy, blood-stained hand. " _You know one; and so do I. Let's trade, yes?"_

Lenora had nothing to "trade", or so she thought. Tugging away the bandage over their mouth, Grim lurched forth and sank their teeth deep into her arm. Her agonized shrieks were muffled under the hand pressing hard over her mouth. Hot tears spilled from her eyes as she felt the skin and muscle tissue ripping, caught in strong jaws.

Tearing out a chunk of flesh viciously, Grim reared back, face tilting up to the ceiling as they savored the taste. Lenora closed her eyes, wishing not to see the cannibal swallow.

_"Flesh marinated in sweet, arcane blood; you really do taste of the Void."_

Grim exhaled a disturbing, satiated growl, licking blood from their lips. Removing their hand from her mouth when her screaming quieted, they snatched hold of her chin again.

" _Keep our secret, little girl, or I will enjoy frying you up for dinner."_

Hot ash and seawater filled her mouth, as the bonecharm was forced between her teeth. Lenora had been gasping raggedly for breath then and nearly choked. While she fought to keep the object from going down her throat, Grim leapt off and vanished into the dark. 

Tilting her head, Lenora managed to spit out the bonecharm and coughed. Alone once more, she whimpered and thrashed on the mattress, unsuccessful in her effort to loosen the accursed straps. Her circulation was restricted, and her skin was already blazing red, sore. Next to her ear, the bonecharm sang a hushed lullaby, but it did nothing to alleviate the pain.

Dark blood leaked from her savaged forearm; some flesh was missing, near the crease of her elbow. Lenora sobbed and choked intermittently, miserable and parched after going hours without anything to drink. There was no predicting when Grim would return, or if Doctor Hypatia--or anyone--would stumble upon her. The building was quiet as a graveyard. Perhaps everyone was dead, with their severed limbs and organs strewn across the halls.

Banished to Addermire Institute without so much as a scolding tone from Delilah, Lena began to doubt her mother ever cared for her wellbeing. For the Void's sake, she left her at the mercy of a sadistic, psychotic murderer--the _actual_ Crown Killer!

Whatever love Delilah harbored for those close to her, it was corrupted and overshadowed by her selfishness. 

Overwhelmed by the heavy, oppressive atmosphere looming over Addermire, Lenora was unable to sense the intruder until he spoke.

**"** _Delilah cares deeply for the one person who never abused, betrayed, or disappointed her. The reflection she sees in the mirror is quite different than what others perceive. Even then, she makes groveling sycophants of them all._ **"**

Heart leaping frantically like a fish trapped in a bucket, Lenora watched as the shadows became tangible. Separating himself from them, a man no older than twenty stepped forth. Black smoke formed wisps about his shoulders, absent of flame; a visible manifestation of his aura, surpassing the potency of witch magic tenfold. 

_"Hello, at last, Lenora. I am the one known as the Outsider."_


	5. God of the Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears throat* Yes hello. This chapter was hard to pin down as far as pacing goes, but it's definitely going somewhere. 
> 
> I took some liberties to add more lore and depth to existing characters. High Overseer Yul Khulan, for example. We see very little of him in DH2, so I wanted to include some references considering how he plays a major role in the Empire. He kinda got swept under the rug, the poor little religious zealot. 
> 
> Enjoy some Outsider, being his usual cryptic, vaguely-terrifying self.

The Outsider, the god of the Void, in the flesh; if his current form could be described as such. 

Lenora had read extensively about him, when she was _supposed_ to be studying more "proper" things, such as the history of Serkonos and learning the geography of the Isles. The library at the Grand Palace happened to be quite diverse in its reading material. Mingled in with fact and fantasy were several tomes about the Void.

Most people described the Outsider as a voice, whispering to them in their dreams. Perhaps even granting them visions or small favors, should they revere his greatness. Of course, these were accounts penned under pseudonyms. Witnesses' names and origins were fabricated to protect them from harsh scrutiny or persecution. Such visions--and brazen worship of the Outsider--were considered heresy.

The Abbey of the Everyman had its teeth deep in the Empire of the Isles. Lenora heard talk of heretics being executed in the streets of Karnaca, as Overseers confiscated runes and burned their shrines. 

To even _speak_ of the Outsider was discouraged, should the invocation of his name catch his attention. And there he stood, mere feet away. 

Lenora glanced over to the bonecharm she had unearthed from the seabed. Cheeks growing hot in spite of the horrid chill, she recalled the numerous times she pressed it against her lips--and, just seconds ago, she almost choked to death on the thing. Had the god somehow felt it, the same way that she could sense magical energy? Could he be summoned unintentionally, without petitioning for his favor at a shrine?

_"Such a cruel savagery. A brilliant mind, polluted by madness; twisted beyond recognition. Barely held together by an unwavering sense of purpose. Just the smallest nick might shatter what sanity remains. One must wonder if such a broken thing is salvageable."_

It took Lenora's exhausted mind a moment to realize the god was speaking cryptically of Grim. Hands folded behind his back, he paced the floor along some invisible line, momentarily keeping his distance from the traumatized girl. There was a pensive, deeply thoughtful manner about him.

By the window to her left, the Outsider lazily reached a pale hand for the half-drawn red curtain. Interacting with the physical world for the first time in a decade, he coaxed the curtain open further to allow more light--what little there was. A cloud of dust shook free of the fabric. It had not been washed or beaten in several months. 

_"What a troublesome predicament you've wound up in,"_ the Outsider spoke further, changing the subject as he turned to face her. Dim rays of sunlight bent around his shoulders, repelled by some unnatural force. Odd, how he could manipulate objects, but defied the laws of reality. 

The god remained there by the window, observing her with a decidedly blank expression. Even so, his voice had a sardonic lilt to it as he continued, " _From the lap of luxury, to bloodied rags and filth. Was this the fate you expected, when you chose to betray Delilah and help the sparrow take flight?"_

Sparrow; that was the endearing name Delilah had given Emily, when alluding to her childhood trauma. _Blackened by bad memories._ Shuddering in remembrance of the bloodbath that ensued, Lenora wet her lips, but her mouth was awfully dry. 

"I don't know," she replied in an uninspired manner, whilst fighting the onslaught of emotions ranging from guilt and sorrow, to fury and resentment.

Unconvinced of the ambiguity of her motives, the Outsider waltzed in closer, arms folded. He directed his eyes elsewhere, but he was always watchful--even when he feigned disinterest. Lenora noted how his footsteps made no sound; not even the faintest creak over the old floorboards. His movements were weightless, ghostly, despite his rather tall, sturdily built stature.

_"What a reckless act, then, to sacrifice the favor of an Empress for a disgraced fugitive. One might suspect you place little value on your own life."_

His words sounded harsh, but there was no animosity in his tone. Lenora closed her eyes, sighing as she decided to answer with more conviction.

"What you said about Delilah..." she began, reflecting on his analysis of the witch he once favored. "She lied to me about her plans. For so long, I wanted her to love me. I believed that she did. Maybe I _still_ do, but...the side of her I saw, that day. I couldn't stand by and let more bad things happen."

 _"So it was done out of spite,"_ the Void god surmised, half-turning on his heel, though she caught the subtle hint of a smirk. He was obviously baiting her, to gain more clarity.

"Yes and no," she answered honestly, "Emily was alone. I knew she would be fine, without my help...but I just...It was the _right_ thing to do."

 _"What is right and wrong, in a world built upon morals that change with the direction of the wind?"_ the god debated her reasoning coolly. The question was rhetorical, phrased merely to provoke deeper thought. _"I have watched countless empires crumble. Governments sabotaged, civilizations burned. All undone by fickle laws, and unreliable codes of morality. It matters little to the Void whom sits upon the throne, or what becomes of a family squabble."_

"Then why have you come?" Lenora questioned him, bold in her slightly-delirous condition. If the Outsider had come just to deride her, then she hoped to offend him enough that he left. A risky game to play with a god who demonstrated the power to manipulate real-world objects, should he be so inclined. None of her books--not even those typed up by the scornful, fear-mongering followers of the Abbey--mentioned the Outsider being able to manifest as flesh and bone.

If the god of the Void was put off by her abrasiveness, he concealed it effortlessly. Vanishing from his place by the window--quite literally in a puff of black smoke--the Outsider reappeared to her right, standing directly beside her. 

Lenora had grown accustomed to people materializing from thin air--between her mother Delilah and Breanna Ashworth. Even so, his sudden proximity was startling after what she just asked, so rudely.

_"It is rare for me to interfere. I dislike doing it, but if I must..."_

Unfolding the hands from behind his back, the Outsider made a dismissive, waving gesture. The tightly-knotted restraints around her wrists and ankles loosened, relieving her of their painful restriction. 

Lenora breathed out in relief, sitting upright on the mattress to rub the abrasions on her skin, and massaging her aching, restless muscles. Then she winced, clutching the ghastly wound on her left arm. Ripped open by barbaric teeth, her flesh burned and throbbed from the damage, continuously leaking blood. Compressing the wound with her hand did little to stop the flow.

The Outsider unexpectedly placed two fingers over the hand she pressed to the wound. Magic tingled in her bones from his feather-light touch, soothing away the pain like a medical balm. In fact, her entire body felt invigorated. The dull ache from where Ramsey struck her cheek faded. When she lifted her hand, the bite mark existed only as a pale scar.

Speechless--more in awe of his action than the healing magic--Lenora stared at the god without an inkling as to why he bothered. 

Black eyes regarded her in contemplative silence. 'Dark and unfeeling as the cold Void itself' one High Overseer Yul Khulan had been quoted in a biographical text, describing nightmarish visions he suffered whilst afflicted by Bloodfly Fever. Whether it was true the Outsider visited him--or his paranoia and fear conjured hallucinations--Lenora saw the god in a different light. Dark eyes, they certainly were, but not devoid of compassion. 

"Thank you," she finally expressed her gratitude, quiet but clear.

The Outsider tilted his head ever so slightly, but said nothing. With another fluid wave of his hand, he conjured something from Void magic; clothes appeared, neatly folded in the palm of his hand. Uttering not a word, he placed them on the mattress next to her before stepping away. Rather than teleporting, he walked at a normal pace, returning to the window so he could gaze out to sea. 

Puzzled by his unpredictable moods--one moment speaking of morality like a philosopher, the next stoic and mute--Lenora reached for the clothes he offered. There was nothing particularly unusual about them, but the fabric was lightweight and silky. 

Something else had appeared on the bedside table; a bowl of water, with a clean rag. Lenora glanced over to the god, whose back was turned, eyes locked on the view from Addermire Institute over the vast ocean beyond. Perhaps he was looking somewhere else entirely; gazing into corners of the world unknown to geographers and historians. 

Wrapped up in her own thoughts, Lenora busied her hands with cleaning the smears of blood from her skin. It stained her left arm, and even her legs. After she finished cleaning herself, the clear water had become a sickening, dark red color. Swallowing dryly, she regretted not taking a sip beforehand.

For now, she ignored her thirst and hunger pains. The outfit the Outsider provided her was lovely, truth be told. Solid black, high-waisted trousers, accented with silver buttons. The blouse was a whimsical blue hue, fitted at the wrists but loose in the sleeves, so it would not drag against her scales with each motion. Lenora tucked the bottom into the waist of her trousers, before lifting up the vest. It was black to match, silver buttons down the front, with a hood large enough to fold and cast a shadow over her face. 

_"So, tell me, Lenora,"_ the Outsider spoke after she finished getting dressed. Half-turning from the window, he casted a sidelong glance, inquiring rather slyly, _"How do you propose to stop the Crown Killer?"_

Thrown off by the question, Lenora blinked in surprise before she frowned. In truth, she never expected to be rescued by anyone, let alone by _the Outsider_. Death would have come for her inevitably, via starvation or hypothermia--more likely, at the hands of the homicidal cannibal Grim.

 _"Perhaps then, you're not quite as reckless as I thought,"_ the god remarked dryly, with the subtle hint of a smile. " _Courage, while admirable, has led to the undoing of many who lack foresight."_

Lenora became suspicious that most of what he said was cryptic advice or thinly-veiled, sarcastic critiques of character. "What do you suggest?"

The Outsider averted his eyes then, looking back towards the sea. He almost seemed conflicted over something, unrelated to their conversation.

"What is it?" the girl ventured to ask, unsettled by his standoffish behavior. He had been less than forthcoming about why he intervened, which, by his own admission, he preferred _not_ doing.

_"The tides are shifting. Serkonos has teetered on the cliffside for too long. With one final nudge, it will drown in the swell of its own corruption."_

Well, that confirmed her theory--the Outsider enjoyed speaking in ominous riddles. Lenora was far too exhausted to decrypt that foreboding prophecy. "What does that mean?"

Amused by her inquisitive nature, the Outsider clarified, _"As we speak, Emily Kaldwin seeks a path to this place, and the whereabouts of the Good Doctor."_

"Emily is coming here?" she asked, perplexed by that information; if the god knew that, why intervene whatsoever?

_"Yes, she intends to unmask the Crown Killer and dismantle the alliance Delilah has so craftily organized to lay claim to the throne."_

"Then I should hide, and wait for her," Lenora voiced the plan forming in her head, pacing the floor anxiously. After the ordeal at Dunwall Tower, and being disowned without a word, there was no sense in backing out. Of course, the daughter of Corvo Attano--Royal Protector, Ghost of Dunwall--could handle things just fine alone. Lenora would stay out of Emily's way, but she hoped to be useful.

The Outsider sauntered away from the window, but moved around Lenora rather than towards her, as if wandering aimlessly. _"How brave, to volunteer. As entertaining as that would be, I cannot permit you to remain here."_

God or not, he was beginning to grate on her nerves--an impressive feat, given her easy-going temperament. Lenora folded her arms in a stubborn display. "Emily might need some help finding her way. I know this place like the back of my hand."

_"Be that as it may, Lenora, I have concerns."_

Under the stressful circumstances, Lenora's patience had worn thin. As calmly as possible, she prodded, "Such as?"

 _"Unforeseen consequences,"_ was the non-specific answer he enlightened her with.

Frustrated and getting nowhere with the god of the Void, Lenora sighed, but stood her ground. "I'm staying, for Emily," she declared with finality, walking toward the door with renewed determination.

Black smoke enveloped her, cold as the spray of crashing ocean waves, joined by the hair-raising tingle of electricity in the air. Impenetrable black eyes gazed fiercely into hers, as the Outsider manifested in her path before she could leave the room. No one in thousands of years--not even Daud--turned their back on him so petulantly. 

Cold hands gripped her arms, just below the shoulders, causing her to tense. Had she crossed a line, provoking his ire? For the first time since meeting the god, primal fear coiled in her stomach. Recalling the unflattering things she read, Lenora imagined the darker side of his personality which left even the High Overseer shaking in terror.

That horrible gut-feeling worsened as reality seemed to come undone around her. Wooden floorboards beneath her boots crumbled, as if rotting away with time. The familiar surroundings of Addermire Institute were replaced by endless grey skies. There were no streets, buildings, or ships--Karnaca had just disappeared. _No_ , she realized with a wave of nausea. The Outsider had _dragged_ her from the world she knew, into one most people dreaded.

The Void.


	6. The Great Leviathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I fear no witch. Even less do I fear insolent children. I am not wrathful, but my tolerance has its limits"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the lore we're given about the Void is dubious, at best. I wanted to explore it more. This chapter is exposition-heavy, but integral to the relationship between the Outsider and Lenora. This ended up taking a different turn than I orignally planned, but I'm very excited to continue writing. Feel free to comment and let me know what you think! I might do some revising as the story progresses.

Sleepless nights and boredom had spurned many "inappropriate" reading sessions at the Grand Palace. Sneaking past nosy servants and bothersome guards, Lena smuggled many books excluded from the list of which Duke Luca Abele permitted her to read. Amongst the numerous, forbidden titles she pilfered from the library, she was most deeply fascinated with _The Hungry Cosmos_ written by Anton Sokolov. One unsettling passage came to mind, as she found herself peering into a vast, unfathomable expanse.

_"Once the curtain has been lifted, it becomes inescapable that we inhabit a world adrift in a sea of howling chaos, a terrible maelstrom in which all heavenly bodies orbit a devouring core. Though the trip could take many thousands of lifetimes, all cosmic objects are eventually dragged into this hungry nexus and forever cease to be."_

Anton Sokolov was not the only philosopher who believed the Void to be a hungry, devouring thing. Even so, it was definitively _not_ a featureless, dark abyss of nothingness. Solid ground existed beneath her feet; large fragments of mountain rock, suspended in midair. Other floating masses were visible amongst the dreamlike fog. Distant sounds drifted on the inconsistent, ever-changing winds; echoes of the past, present, and future intermingled with soft whispers and the unmistakable, haunting notes of whale song. 

_"What you see is but a fraction of infinity. Not even a mind rare as Anton Sokolov's could fathom the Void in its entirety."_

The Outsider had relinquished his grip on her shoulders, vanishing only to reappear seated on the far edge of their floating island. 

_"Hunger is a mortal affliction. The Void exists outside the restrictive boundaries of such vulnerability. Sokolov may ponder and theorize, but the whole truth escapes him."_

Lenora stood where he left her, rubbing her arms as she often did when uncomfortable; her thoughts were not private. Intrigue aside, she clung to the aggravation of her wishes being violated. The Outsider actively prevented her from being present for Emily's arrival--she wanted answers.

"Why have you brought me here?"

Distracted by something else, the god lifted his hand in a signal for her to be quiet. Adjusting his position, he propped one leg up to lean over his knee with strong interest. The Outsider gazed deep into the Void, or at least, he seemed to be. Lena suspected that he was looking far beyond what her eyes could see--supervising over whatever was transpiring at the Addermire Institute. Time seemed to pass normally in the Void, but for all she knew, hours had flown by in Karnaca.

"The Abbey got one thing right about you," Lenora spoke again, following an indiscernible period of silence. Watching his motionless form several feet away, she finished daringly, "You _are_ a liar."

The Outsider cocked his head then, as the offensive barb pricked his ear; the only indication he gave, perhaps wondering if he misheard. Dense black smoke rose from his shoulders as if from a burning pyre. Hidden in the dark cloud, he evaporated like a formless spectre, leaving but empty space behind. Tendrils of regret writhed in her gut, as Lenora's eyes darted left to right in search of his visage. It was certainly _unwise_ to pester the god of the Void, when he could simply cast her into the nothingness with the snap of his fingers. 

" _What, pray tell, do you presume to have been a lie?"_ his voice dragged across the back of her neck, smooth as black silk. Supercharged particles of magical energy crackled in the air, a thousand times stronger than the electricity produced by whale oil. The Outsider's power was lightning trapped in a jar; chaos, just barely contained, with the potential to wreak havoc and devastation should one be careless enough to tap on the cracks in the glass.

Born surrounded by remarkably powerful, influential, dangerous people--like Delilah--she was far off from being a meek, timid young girl. Even so, she resisted the instinctive urge to jump. 

"You said 'the Void' doesn't care what happens to the Empire," she reminded the god, holding strong to her resolve, "And yet, here I am, kidnapped by you, for reasons you haven't explained. Why step in at all?"

The Outsider hummed a note of amusement at her choice of words. _"Kidnapped; I suppose that is appropriate,"_ he permitted, stepping out of her blind spot to affix her with a discerning look. " _Though I fear you misunderstand. The Void and I are connected, but of separate consciousness. Whatever actions I take are of my own volition."_

"Then bring me back."

Adamant in his decision, he countered tersely, " _That would be an arguably poor decision."_

Aggravated by his commitment to being vague, Lenora moved away, although she was unable to go very far without casting herself into oblivion. Peeking over the perilous ledge, she watched a formation of dark clouds mimick the tossing of ocean waves. A mystifying sight which left her sad, homesick for the beaches of Karnaca. Her wounded heart longed for the much simpler times, before she was disillusioned to the ruthless, bloodthirsty nature of her mother's aspirations to become Empress.

"I don't understand. Why do you care what becomes of me?"

_"The answer to that question is irrelevant as to why I removed you from Emily's path."_

"Then why interfere?"

His solid obsidian eyes were unblinking as he stared her down with deep consideration. After a ridiculously prolonged silence, he finally responded, _"Your presence disrupts my perception of the world. I can see what transpires directly, but it's...much harder to focus on others, or envision the future."_

Baffled by the mere prospect of causing such impairment to a god, she frowned deeply until her forehead ached from the strain. "How is that possible?"

The Outsider had taken to pacing leisurely in a wide circle, following along the edge of their small island. Pensive, he toyed with one of the rings adorning his fingers--a nervous habit, strangely human. There was a detectable bitterness in his otherwise lackadaisical tone as he stated, _"Some things escape my understanding. I am not omniscient, Lenora."_

She watched as he abruptly stepped off the edge of the island. Mouth opening in shock, she looked down, expecting to see him fall out of sight. Out of nowhere, a hand rested on her back; with a strong nudge, she was forced over the edge and powerless to resist gravity. A panicked yelp escaped her as she fell deeper into the Void, with no way to stop her descent. Below or above had no meaning in the neverending sky--she could fall until time itself expired.

Saving her from such a mundane fate, the Outsider caught her in his arms. _What a cruel trick,_ Lena thought, her anger conflicting with the exhilaration tingling in her blood. Either she was hallucinating, or the god of the Void was _smiling_.

 _"_ Was that necessary?" she asked indignantly.

_"Perhaps not, if you no longer seek answers."_

"What--" she began to ask, but found herself sitting on the ground, as the Outsider inexplicably vanished. Cursing his name, she rose to her feet before observing her new surroundings. The strong atmospheric pressure had thickened; this part of the Void felt _ancient_. Walking felt more like swimming through muddy bog water, as magic imbibed the very air itself. 

Dark stone formed the island, similar to the one she originally stood upon. There was more structure to this one, with jagged rocks forming walls and steps leading up to a platform. Robed figures stood in parallel lines along the steps. Slowly passing by the unnerving statues, Lenora approached a table; the grain and ripples eluded to a wooden structure, but it was eternally preserved in stone. 

Another cloaked figure stood at the head of the table. Wielding a dagger, they clutched it with both hands, poised in grim preperation.

Materializing on the sacrificial altar, the Outsider sprawled out limply with his arms held up, as if bound. Expression blank, he displayed no emotion as he looked up at the deadly blade hovering overhead.

_"This is where my throat was cut, four thousand years ago. A cult took me off the streets when I was just a boy. They kept me captive for years, believing I was special. I waited too long to escape, and ended up here, on this altar. I fought, but it was much too late. The ropes only cut into my skin. When the blade touched my throat, I expected to fade into nothingness. My blood ran out, but in death, I was reborn a god."_

Lenora was horrified and saddened, listening to him recount the moments of fear and helplessness before he was sacrificed. 

The Outsider sat upright on the altar, legs crossed as he leaned on his elbows. He was strangely at ease, as if lounging on warm sands by the sea. Had four thousand years desensitized him to the atrocity that was done? It was difficult for Lena to interpret his mood. Servants, guards, and shopkeepers were simple to read, but the Void god seldom displayed emotion--assuming he felt anything whatsoever. 

_"Delilah was lost in the Void. Banished, after her ambition became an obsession,"_ the Outsider continued, returning to the subject of the witch. " _She found this place, and tapped into the power here."_

Just then, she could discern the hostility reserved for Delilah; if he once favored her, that fondness had soured long ago. There was a complicated history between her mother and the god of the Void. Perhaps one she would never know or comprehend. 

"So you _are_ enemies," she concluded.

The Outsider rose from the sacrificial altar, carefree and unperturbed, as if waking from a nap. He stood to languidly walk a few paces with his arms crossed. In simple terms, the enigmatic god offered impassively, _"Delilah has irked me."_

Despite his impeccable composure, the smoke thickened around him; it behaved abnormally, lashing the air like aggressive tentacles rather than noxious fumes. _Irksome_ was obvious to be a deliberate understatement, concerning his sentiments toward Delilah. 

"How so?" the girl persisted, brushing a hand over the altar next to them. Negative energy pricked her fingertips sharply, like the venomous barbs of river-crusts.

Lena pressed her lips together, containing the urge to sob or gasp aloud. All the suffering--which lead to his ascension into godhood--was preserved in the place where time did not exist. Thick ropes shredded the skin of her wrists, as a cold metal dragged across her throat. Enduring the phantom pain, she tasted the blood as if experiencing the moment herself.

 _"When she drew power from this place, I felt it,"_ the Outsider disclosed, curling a fist over his chest, " _She accepted my mark, all those years ago, but it wasn't enough. The cunning, insatiable Delilah; she desired more. Her arrival here was... improbable. You saw it for yourself--her ability to leech from others. In more ways than one,"_ a wry smirk tweaked the corner of his lips, impressed and resentful at once. The somber humor quickly morphed into scorn, as he explained with great displeasure, " _She has attached herself to me, and I don't like it."_

Reliving the catastrophe at Dunwall Tower, Lena envisioned how Delilah absorbed the magic from Corvo Attano. Her power was parasitic, corruptive; it left the formidable Royal Protector weak, drained of all energy. The distress had been clear in his battle-worn eyes, mortified by how easily she robbed him of strength. In spite of that, he faced Delilah with fearless wrath, prepared to sacrifice everything he had left--right up until the moment he was cast in cold marble.

Ashamed of her previous blindness to the truth, Lena shivered and rubbed her arms. She looked to the Outsider, who made no remark about the tears glistening in her rueful green eyes. Swallowing her grief, she asked him, "Does it hurt you?"

The Outsider chuckled, for the first time since they met; the musical tinkling of a wind chime, crafted of bone, stirred by the cold breath of the sea. _"No, my dear Lenora. I feel no pain. It is more of a nuisance than a threat. Delilah may have the power to weaken those I have_ marked," acknowledging the fate of Corvo, he let slip a sigh of regret, "-- _but she cannot harm me. Not without dooming herself."_

Empathizing with the god of the Void; what a strange feeling. Lena never expected him to show vulnerability like that. She rubbed the sensitive area of her neck, attempting to assuage the sting of harsh metal cutting in deep. The Outsider pretended to be distracted by the distant wails of the ever-roaming Leviathan, but he was very much aware of her tumultuous emotions. 

"Why are you telling me all of this?" she finally posed the question burning on the tip of her tongue. "How does it explain a thing?"

The Outsider resumed his leisure pacing, eyes lowered humbly, but there was nothing casual about their discussion. _"A clever mind such as yours can surely infer what connection you share to the Void."_

Lenora had grown weary of his non-answers. "Just tell me what you know. I'm sick of guessing."

Hard, unyielding stone pressed against her back, as the Outsider suddenly pinned her to the altar. Lenora gasped at the breathtaking speed of his movements, but no harm was inflicted. Bent over to push down on her shoulders, he merely placed her in the same position where he violently bled to death, four thousand years ago.

 _"After the seance freed her from the Void, Delilah hid a part of herself in impenetrable stone. Immortality; not even that was satisfactory,"_ he elaborated, with clear distaste for what transpired, " _She needed a fail safe, to preserve herself indefinitely."_

"Fail safe..." Lenora repeated the words, shivering as the pool of cold, toxic residual energy pierced into her bones. The altar was the source of immense power; the Outsider had become a god, and Delilah uncovered the secret to immortality. The revelation struck her like a vicious wave, smashing her against the rocks; "I am the fail safe."

_"The body you inhabit once belonged to another, before a tragic fall cracked her skull. Delilah poured a bowl of her own blood over the scales of a deep-dwelling creature. But she made a mistake. Witchcraft is often... unpredictable. The ritual backfired. You are not one thing, but the convergence of many elements. In four thousand years, nothing like you has existed. You are human, but inhuman; a paradox of living flesh."_

Deception and secrecy; the Duke of Serkonos had withheld the truth from her for three years, distracting her with remedial studies, fancy banquets and shiny objects. Learning the purpose behind her "birth", Lenora was forced to confront the remnants of her childish fantasies. Delilah would never truly love her unconditionally. Whatever maternal affection she displayed for Lenora was circumvented by her self-absorbed nature.

Rejecting the heartbroken tears which threatened to spill, Lenora focused on something the Outsider said earlier. "Is that why I blind you?" 

The god of the Void released her shoulders, choosing to sit amiably beside her. _"No, I am not blinded,"_ he corrected in a detached manner, although the coldness seemed forced. Once again toying with his rings, he explained, _"When I look at you, it's a challenge to attend to anyone else. I have yet to discern how, or why. You are part of the Void, as I am."_

Existential crisis was not something one could endure lightly. Shaken and restless, Lenora stood up and walked away from the dreadful altar, hoping to escape its overbearing aura. Strands of black hair had fallen loose from her braid, stirring in the cool wind as it constantly shifted directions. Near the farthest ledge of the island, the corruptive energy radiating from the wicked altar was bearable. Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, Lenora peered into the Void. 

Lavender, orange, and red interrupted the dull grey as the fog lifted. Even whilst mourning the loss of her innocence, Lenora marveled at the captivating illusion of a sunset, in a place where the sun did not exist. The view reminded her of peaceful evenings back in Karnaca. In solitude, she would stretch out on the rocks to watch the glorious, orange sun plunge below the tossing black waves. 

The Outsider appeared beside her, respectful of her space but providing some company. They stood in companionable silence for a short while, before the god spoke, _"If you remain here, I can show you things. The Void is more than darkness. It is ever-changing; yet it is constant. Your philosophers lack the vocabulary to describe what I have seen. Horror and beauty, all merged into one."_

What he offered was tempting, but Lena knew it was a compromise; there were terms and conditions in the fine print. Knowledge, for a price. 

"I need to go back," she declared in quiet, assured tone. 

_"Out of the question."_

"You're just afraid."

The Outsider chuckled dryly. _"What, dear Lenora, do you think I fear?"_

"The unknown," she concluded, facing him calmly. Very few people would dare accuse a four thousand year old god of being fearful, but she _felt_ it; his uncertainty, like the erratic heartbeat of a man on trial, awaiting the verdict. It was _her_ turn to speculate, to analyze him. "For once, you don't know what may happen. You're just like the rest of us."

Obstinate and inscrutable at the best of times, the Outsider seemed to falter, having no cynical quips or witticisms. He blinked, holding silent for so long, Lenora wondered if she offended him beyond words. Then he freed her of his piercing black stare, beholding the colorful sky with a faint smile. Folding his arms, he sighed, displaying more human behaviors as he lowered his guard.

 _"I never claimed to know what will happen,"_ he amended evenly, " _I only see possibilities of the future; nothing is certain. A luxury few are afforded, and one I value greatly."_

Leaving her side to resume pacing--a thing he did quite often, she noticed--the Outsider seemed troubled. Deliberating intensely over something, he brought his knuckles to his chin, elaborating further, _"Delilah has gone to great lengths to 'blind' me, as you worded it. She distrusts me. I cannot predict her next move. Her blood runs in your veins. I suspect that is why you distort my perception."_

 _The god of the Void,_ one High Overseer Khulan had been quoted in his biography, _masterful in the wicked art of deception._ Lenora bitterly wondered if that had been a misquote, or the accidental slip of a finger. Perhaps that unflattering passage had meant to read as, _masterful in the wicked art of deflection._

"You can't hold me prisoner here, just because you fear Delilah."

Immovable as the rocks lining the shores of Serkonos, Lenora held her ground when the Outsider manifested within an inch of her face. Thicker than a cloud of mine dust caught in powerful Southern mountain winds, black smoke obscured their surroundings. Indigo flames lashed the air like forked tongues, producing no heat, spreading from his shoulders to engulf his entire body. Rising to hover several inches off the ground, the Outsider subjected her to the full severity of his piercing black glare. Darkness was the absence of light, yet his eyes seemed to _glow;_ a cold, raging inferno.

 _"If I so desired, I would crush Delilah like dried bone under my boot,"_ the god spoke in a rigid, icy tone, even when enraged. " _I_ _fear no witch. Even less do I fear insolent children. I am not wrathful, but my tolerance has its limits."_

Whatever bravery Lenora had was snuffed out by his fearsome words. It was not a threat, but a warning that his patience was burnt down to the wick. Lowering her eyes, she held silent and uncrossed her arms; displaying submission and humility. Regardless of their strong disagreement, she owed him endless gratitude for the kindness he had done. If she was such an inconvenience _,_ the god had no obligations to heal her wounds. He certainly had nothing to gain when he spared her the bloody demise of falling victim to the Crown Killer.

Fidgeting with the sleeve of her blouse, Lenora reminded herself of the manners which her etiquette tutor went to great pains to instill in her. "Forgive me. I meant no disrespect, my Lord."

The Outsider slowly drifted back down to stand on solid ground, arms folded. Gradually, the vibrant, erratically flickering indigo flames extinguished, but the dark smoke never quite faded. His fierce obsidian eyes softened, as his expression defaulted back to one of cool-tempered ambiguity. 

_"Do not mistake me for a conceited noble,"_ he requested, waving dismissively at her use of high class etiquette. _"Corvo did the same, at first. Contrary to popular belief, I do not require worship. No one must kiss my hand, or grovel at my feet. I find it to be disingenuous. Nobles are the worst deceivers of them all. Poor Emily knows this, better than any who have lived before her."_

Perking up at the mention of her dethroned "cousin", she could not restrain her rampant curiosity and concern for the former Empress' wellbeing. "What of Emily? Is she alright? Can you see her?"

A smirk played at the corner of his lips, as the Outsider half-turned to focus his all-seeing eyes elsewhere. " _She has uncovered the identity of the Crown Killer,"_ he disclosed coolly, " _As_ _we speak, she has the chance to eliminate the one who poisoned the public's opinion against her, and her father. What choice will she make, I wonder..."_

Quick to pick up on the open-endedness of his observation, Lenora pressed, "There's another option?"

_"Broken things can be mended, if one has the proper tools and a patient hand."_

The Outsider paused then, betraying his false charade of indifference when a frown weighed heavily over his features. Something was horribly wrong; he knew it, and Lenora could feel it deep in her bones. _Unforeseen consequences..._

Her words were spoken out of dread and desperation: "Send me back."

The god of the Void stared at her wordlessly, perhaps deliberating what the appropriate punishment would be for her continued defiance. Someone else answered for him, in a deep, rumbling note so powerful it vibrated within the ancient stone underfoot. Catching sight of their unexpected visitor, the Outsider blinked once before he vanished, reappearing atop the rock wall nearby. Elbows rested over his knees, he leaned forward with great interest. 

_"It would seem the Ancient One wishes to speak. A rare occasion,"_ he remarked, enraptured by the sight.

Lenora sensed the vaguely familiar presence rising up from the unfathomable depths of the Void below. When she turned, cautious and awestruck, the vision before her was breathtaking. An enormous whale floated gracefully in midair, dwarfing those hauled in by whaling trawlers by several hundred tons. It's tough flesh was dull blue, patterned with scars it acquired over several millennia. Fresh wounds marred its body, as if it had been punctured by vicious harpoons; dark crimson blood leaked from the gaping wounds, diluting as if mingling with seawater rather than air. It existed in a state of perpetual suffering, eternally adrift in the Void as it mourned its slain brethren. 

Meeting its large eye, clouded with age and ancient wisdom, Lenora felt compelled to reach out her hand. Tracing one of its countless scars with her fingertips, she closed her eyes and listened hard as the Great Leviathan spoke in wordless lyrics.

The Void existed long before the Outsider, with numerous representatives through which it spoke. Most had faded into oblivion, but the Great Leviathan remained. It was often mistaken for the Outsider, despite the fact it existed several eons before his ascension to godhood. Lenora realized the Leviathan had been calling to her, from deep within the Void.

Exhaling a rumbling breath, the Leviathan blinked once in acknowledgement. Without speaking a word, it communicated its sage advice and expressed its fondness. Caressing the creature's thick, bumpy skin with gratitude, Lenora smiled. 

Imparting a grunt of farewell to the Outsider, the Great Leviathan flicked its gargantuan tail and soared off, descending once more into the deep. 

_"Undermined by my predecessor,"_ the Outsider commented, without bothering to conceal his chagrin, " _Par for the course, I suppose..."_

Pushing off from his perch, the god evaporated into smoke before reappearing next to her. Not quite following what just happened, Lenora frowned and asked, "What?"

The Outsider did not answer right away. He lifted one hand, outstreching his palm as something manifested from smoke and sparks of magic. Her bonecharm; the object she often pressed to her lips when overcome with insecurity or sorrow. Delicately lifting the bonecharm by the string she knotted around it, the Outsider waited for permission.

Far too embarrassed to speak, she nodded mutely. Its familiar weight rested over her chest, instantly quieting the nervous fluttering of her heart. The bonecharm was not the only source of heat inflaming her neck and cheeks, as the Outsider's hands fastened the clasp of her makeshift pendant. His cool fingers lightly grazed her neck, sending a shiver down her back. 

Withdrawing his hands, the Outsider leveled his black eyes at her. If she did not know better, Lenora would mistake his rigid jaw and furrowed brow for concern.

_"Remember that I will be watching."_

Without another word of warning, the Outsider cast her from the Void, returning her to the physical realm. The unexpected transition caused her to lose her footing, tumbling forward onto thick, red carpet littered with bullet casings, blood and broken glass. A familiar, overbearing atmosphere loomed heavily overhead, as icy gale-force winds howled through a shattered window.

Addermire Institute; the lair of the psychotic Crown Killer.


	7. A Soft Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...this chapter had to be rewritten several times. Mostly because I'm a perfectionist, but ALSO because the page refreshed and deleted all my hard work. But it's fine, it's fine, I'm not crying... :") 
> 
> Honestly though, it's worth it. Fanfiction is a passion of mine. I love connecting with other fans and playing around with the lore. This story is going places, and it's an adventure for us all!
> 
> As always, feel free to comment your thoughts. Enjoy!

The Addermire Institute was eerily silent, devoid of its usual activity with patients, staff, visitors and guards milling about. Danger could be tasted in the air; sharp, reminiscent of blood and gunmetal. Shrill notes emanated from the bonecharm draped around her neck; a warning she was unsafe. The oppressive atmosphere was exactly how she remembered it, prior to being abducted by the Outsider.

 _Undermined by my predecessor_ , the Void god had muttered, seeming quite vexed. For reasons incomprehensible, the Great Leviathan had chosen her; it had sung to her for years, reminding her of the magic in her blood. Perhaps it wanted her to believe in her own inner-strength--to warn her of the impending horrors.

 _You are human, yet inhuman; a paradox of living flesh._ Whatever category the scholars at the Academy of Natural Philosophy would define her under, in a biological context, that no longer mattered. Something about her connection with Delilah created a blind spot in the Outsider's perception. The god of the Void trusted his elder, to such a degree that he would sacrifice his ability to foresee all the possibly dire outcomes. It bothered him deeply; that much was readily apparent, given his reluctance to "permit" her to roam freely. Without his impeccable foresight, the Outsider was forced to witness events as they transpired, just like any mortal bystander.

_Remember that I will be watching._

Those words might have been intended to reassure her, but she got the strong impression it doubled as a warning. The silvertongued god of the Void prostrated himself as some unfeeling deity, impartial and detached; a false pretense, contradicted by how directly he got involved. In some capacity--however insignificant in the eye of the eternal Void itself--the Outsider _did_ care what events shaped the future of the Isles. 

Responsiblity weighed on her like the crushing pressure of the deep sea. One single misstep could doom the Empire to an endless reign of terror under Delilah. Lenora refused to allow that to happen.

The Outsider had placed her directly before the doors leading into the Recuperation area. There was a body nearby, slumped against the wall; an incapacitated guard, with some kind of dart lodged in his neck. It was a sophisticated, effective device, designed to inject some kind of sedative fluid. _Emily,_ she must have just passed through. Seeing her non-lethal approach to clearing a path to Doctor Hypatia, Lenora was relieved to know the dethroned Empress had not allowed her kind heart to darken. The Outsider mentioned the Crown Killer was a "brilliant mind, polluted by madness". Was there truly hope for redemption, in the case of a homicidal lunatic who consumed human flesh? 

Rubbing the scar where she was bitten, Lenora pushed thoughts of Grim out of her mind. Emily could handle _that_ problem. She would locate Doctor Hypatia; the most logical place to begin searching would be her lab, located past the Recuperation area.

Lifting up the hood of her vest, Lenora clasped the strap over her throat; she preferred not to be recognized, if any more guards patrolled the corridors. Mentally preparing herself for whatever laid beyond the doors, she nudged them open and nearly fainted. 

Ominous red light glowed in the dark space, joined by the buzzing of hundreds of venomous, stinging insects. A thick, paper-like substance covered the walls, floor, and ceiling. Festering corpses were sprawled across the carpet and slumped over blood-stained furniture. Addermire Institute had been on lockdown for several months. Not even new patients were being accepted, and Lenora finally understood why. All members of the faculty had been stung to death; survivors were sent home for their own good. Sufferers of Bloodfly Fever were quarantined in the facility, helpless and abandoned. Something had gone horribly wrong with a patient--or perhaps a study specimen had gotten loose.

The entire Recuperation area was infested with enormous Bloodfly nests.

Horrified but determined to accomplish her self-appointed mission, Lenora crept slowly into the room. With no weapons or means of defense, she risked being painfully stung to death by the vicious swarms. How in the Void had Doctor Hypatia survived the chaos of a full-blown Bloodfly infestation? Awful visions of the poor woman being overwhelmed by a cloud of the ruthless insects distracted Lenora from her surroundings. Her boot caught on something--an empty bottle, which rolled several feet and bumped against the wall. 

Agitated by the sudden vibrations, several dozen Bloodflies emerged from their nest, seeking out whomever posed a threat. 

"Damn it," Lenora hissed under her breath, creeping backwards, as the aggressive insects soared closer. Too focused on the swarm, numb to the chill in the air, she failed to notice the otherworldly creature slinking low and silent toward her. 

Icy fingers snatched hold of her ankle. Off balance, Lenora choked out a cry of alarm when her stomach hit the floor. Her fingernails dug into the carpet, but she was unable to prevent herself from being dragged backwards into an adjoining room. Yanked behind an overturned desk, she twisted sideways to behold the nightmarish creature hunched over her. 

Its body was elongated and flat; a tangible shadow which had separated itself from the floor, moving of its own accord. Shuddering as if struck by a beam of light, the creature assumed a much less terrifying form.

Dark brown eyes were visible, fierce and alert; the lower half of her face was concealed by a blue scarf with intricate, swirling gold patterns. Emily clamped one manicured hand over Lenora's mouth, urging her to remain silent. Then she withdrew it to hold up her pistol, training her gaze on the doorway. With her back pressed to the underside of the flipped desk, Lenora was unable to see, but Emily looked worried. The threat was far greater than a swarm of agitated bloodflies.

_"What do I smell here? Wood smoke. Northern spices. Dunwall!"_

That ragged, animalistic growl of a voice caused Lenora to stiffen. The Crown Killer was prowling the Recuperation area in search of their elusive prey, sniffing the air like a ravenous wolfhound.

_"Mmm, something else, too...Ocean spray. Sweet, arcane blood. The little minnow escaped her bowl. Naughty, naughty..."_

Narrowing her eyes, Emily watched the doorway but remained in a low, crouched position. Lenora covered her own mouth to muffle any involuntary sounds of panic. Several minutes of tense anticipation passed, before the crazed muttering and frustrated growls stopped. Grim had moved on, searching elsewhere.

With a relieved huff, Emily lowered her pistol and closed her eyes. Tucking the weapon back into its holster, she relaxed her defensive stance and slumped heavily against the wall. Wresting the scarf from around her mouth, she hissed, "Fuck!" 

Such foul, improper language was commonly spewed from the mouths of whalers and disgruntled laborers. To hear such obscenities from the lips of a noble--who learned from a young age the importance of etiquette and poignancy--was unusual. Something had to be horribly amiss.

Emily appeared worse for wear. The well-groomed, elegant woman she had been before the Coup was replaced by a disheveled vagrant. Specks of blood and dirt marred her otherwise flawless complexion. Strands of rich brown hair fell loose from her bun, draping over her face; damp with sweat, and tangled from physical exertion. The neglect of her vanity was hardly a concern--Lenora was more troubled by the blood dripping heavily from the sleeve of her jacket.

Emily clutched her right arm with her left hand, while stretching out one of her long legs. Her face scrunched, as her jaw tightened. Trained to endure pain and hold back complaints, even when it became unbearable, Emily would sooner crack her teeth than whimper. Distracting herself, she fixed a discerning look on Lenora.

"I told you to keep out of trouble," she reprimanded, sounding very much like an Empress disappointed in a disobedient subject. It was more of a jest than a legitimate complaint. In a softer tone, she inquired with a frown, "What are you doing here, Lena?" 

"I was kidnapped from the safe room. Delilah sent Grim...I mean, the Crown Killer--to punish me."

Closing her eyes, Emily sighed and leaned her head back, remorseful. "I'm sorry... I should have taken you with me. It was wrong to leave you behind."

"Forget about that," Lenora dismissed the subject, scooting across the floor to kneel beside her. "Your arm. What happened?"

"My sword arm is fucking useless," Emily grumbled, rolling her eyes upwards as if berating herself for lowering her guard. Inspecting her arm with a sidelong glance, she cursed again before elaborating, "That scalpel didn't look like much, but Hypatia got me good."

Baffled and in disbelief of what she just heard, Lenora whisper-yelled, "What? _Doctor Hypatia_ did this?" 

Doctor Alexandria Hypatia dedicated most of her life to helping the ailing people of Serkonos. She provided medical care and remedies to miners, and other civilians affected by mine dust--often without charging a fee. It was a wonder how she could afford to feed or cloth herself, treating patients for little to no payment. The former Duke, Theodanis Abele, awarded her the Grand Medal of Merit for her selfless and brilliant contributions to Natural Philosophy and medical research. The woman had never even raised her _voice_ , let alone a violent hand--or scalpel. How could she cause harm to another?

"I could hardly believe it myself, trust me," Emily acknowledged her warranted skepticism. "I just wanted to _talk._ Asked what she knew of the Crown Killer...Then she started hearing voices, and attacked me. Her assistant, Vasco, distracted her. Bought me some time...I found this," Emily pulled out a letter from her jacket pocket, handing it to Lena, "They were testing Addermire Solution on themselves."

Unfolding the crumpled, worn piece of paper, Lenora struggled to make sense of the words. A majority of the writing was illegible, written by an uneven hand. The ink was smudged from droplets and smeared fingerprints of blood. When she looked to Emily for explanation, the young woman had gone pale; she was equally disturbed, and losing blood fast.

"Hypatia is the Crown Killer," she revealed the dark truth she learned during her investigation, "She kept injecting herself with the bad solution, in secret. It changed her. She developed this split personality, 'Grim Alex'. The Duke found out, and saw an opportunity. He exploited her madness. She wanted to kill; all he did was name her targets." 

"That bastard," Lenora hissed under her breath, earning a confused look from Emily. Venting her annoyance, she explained, "The Outsider knew the whole time and didn't even warn me." 

Eyebrows raising at the mention of the Void god, Emily laughed dryly. "So, you met good old Black Eyes, huh? Yes, he tends to keep things like that to himself."

Much too distracted by the blood leaking from Emily's arm, she was unable to laugh at her cheeky nickname for the god. "He marked you," she presumed, recalling the rather terrifying shadow creature Emily transformed into.

Rather than nodding or giving a one-word answer, Emily outstretched her long fingers toward the far side of the room. Lenora reflexively ducked as some object flew past, as if thrown. Emily caught it effortlessly and smirked, demonstrating another power gifted to her by the Outsider. The mark was concealed from prying eyes by a dark ribbon, but blue light glowed from under the wrappings. A symbol became distinctly visible, as she channeled the magic in her bones.

"Far Reach," she offered, "That's what I call it. I use it to grapple, and reach high places. I can grab objects," casually, she shook the bottle in her left hand. Its contents sloshed, indicating the bottle was half-full. Smiling at the sound, Emily bit into the cork and twisted it loose with her teeth. Spitting it away, she paused to add, "I can grab people, too, but I prefer to avoid being seen. Shadow Walk; you saw how that works."

Mute as she struggled with the truth--realizing the Outsider cryptically _hinted_ at Grim's true identity--Lenora nodded. She watched as Emily wrapped her lips around the bottle. Tossing it back, she gulped down the Tyvian wine so fast it would put a drunken whaler to shame. Finishing off the bottle, Emily popped it free of her lips and gasped for breath, wiping dribble from her mouth. 

"Sorry," Emily apologized for her poor manners, carefully setting the bottle down on the floor next to her. A bittersweet, wistful giggle escaped her, as she joked, "Callista would be appalled. Guess I picked up more than a few bad habits from my father." 

"The Royal Protector," Lenora referred to him by honorable title, out of respect for his memory. "Do you think..."

"I don't know," Emily shook her head, aware of what she was inferring. A fleeting glimmer of hope shone in her eyes, as she continued, "I kind of expected _you_ would know more." 

Ashamed of her ignorance and inability to help in that regard, Lenora subconsciously clawed her own arm. "Delilah never taught me witchcraft. I was isolated to the Grand Palace for three years. Kept out of her way," her voice grew quiet, as she was on the verge of tears. "Emily, if I knew how to bring your father back, I..." 

"I know you would," Emily smiled, weakened by the loss of blood but no less warmhearted. Reaching out, she grasped the younger girl's hand. "I need you to hear this, Lena. If we traded places--if Corvo was here, instead of me. He would have thrown you over his shoulder and got you out of Dunwall safely. My father would hold nothing against you. Please, believe that in your heart."

Touched by her words, she blinked away tears of shame: she was not ready to absolve herself, but it was comforting to hear. "Thank you..."

Content with having addressed that painful subject at last, Emily sighed and became too relaxed for her liking. Her marked hand rested loosely over her raised knee, while her injured arm hung limp; her right hand was curled motionless on the floor, in a thick puddle of blood. 

Lenora gingerly squeezed her uninjured shoulder, prompting her to stay awake. "Hey, no sleeping on the job," she teased with a note of panic. 

Emily laughed, which became a fit of choking as she was still rather parched. Her eyelids fluttered open halfway, as she teased back, "I'm just resting my eyes." In spite of her lighthearted response, her brow furrowed; she was plenty aware that her condition was deteriorating. 

"Wait here, and no napping."

Lenora reluctantly left Emily's side to scour the room in search of useable medical supplies. Her independent studies branched over a wide array of subjects, during the time she spent pillaging the Grand Palace library. She was hardly qualified for a doctorate, but she knew the basics. Doing her damndest not to panic, she inspected a shelf arranged with jars and bottles. Most were empty, or shattered in pieces on the linoleum floor. Fortunately, there was a bottle labeled "Disinfectant Solution"; enough to fill a tea cup.

Rummaging through drawers and cabinets, Lenora found several rolls of bandages. Successful in gathering the lifesaving supplies, she urgently returned to Emily. In the few minutes Lenora spent looking, Emily found the strength to shed her jacket and ripped off the sleeve of her black dress-shirt. The twenty-four year old woman appeared quite thin, fully clothed. Underneath, however, her bones were bound tightly in solid, defined muscle from rigorous training and physical discipline. 

A cold, sick feeling settled in her gut like a wriggling eel. Lenora dropped to her knees and stared at the gaping flesh wound, knowing she was unequipped to administer the proper care required. No amount of bandages or disinfectant solution would undo the severe damage inflicted upon her muscle tissues. The scalpel had torn deep; her arm would never work right, even if she survived the blood loss.

Emily looked scared, but resigned. She did not expect the young girl to perform advanced surgery; her fate was sealed. "Listen," she urged, reaching for the girl's hand once more. "Go to the docks. I disabled the Watchtower. Meagan will be there. The Dreadful Wale is her ship. Tell her I'm sorry, but Sokolov isn't here."

Shaking her head in refusal to just leave, Lenora asked, "What about Doctor Hypatia?"

Emily winced, as she attempted to flex the fingers of her right hand; there was little function. Puffing out a ragged breath past her lips, she tightened her grip on Lenora's hand to stress her point. "Let Meagan worry about that. Just get out of here, alright?"

Exhausted of energy, her grip slackened and Emily lost consciousness. 

"No, no," Lenora began to hyperventilate, shaking her a bit harder than she meant to. "Emily, wake up...wake up!"

Unresponsive and limp, Emily was breathing, albeit in ragged, labored gasps. She was near death, and there was little even Doctor Hypatia could do, if she overcame her psychotic alter ego and waltzed into the room. 

"I know you're watching," Lenora spoke to the darkest corner of the room, desperate for assistance, "Please, do _something_."

No one emerged from the shadows to utter some vague riddle or thinly-veiled remark about her incompetence. Lenora wanted to curse the Outsider's name for choosing _this moment_ to pretend his hands were tied. How could he neglect one of his Marked? By his own admission, no higher power or force governed his actions. On a whim, he could--in his own words--crush Delilah under his boot and put an end to everything. Perhaps the Abbey was right to oppose him; the Outsider was a deceiver. 

Distraught, Lenora fiddled with her bonecharm out of nervous habit; the object chirped loudly, practically scorching her fingertips. In that moment, she came to an epiphany. 

For centuries--before the Abbey deemed the practice heresy--people believed that runes and bonecharms had mystical properties. Sailors would carry them in their pockets on long voyages, convinced it toughened their skin to the elements and alleviated their stress. Craftsmen and seamstresses swore the objects improved their skills, yielding better quality wares and bringing them prosperity. Even the nobles kept runes under their pillows, accrediting their continued success and good health to the arcane. That all changed, when the Abbey began confiscating and destroying what they considered wicked objects of witchery.

Lenora was no witch, but her bonecharm had soothing effects. Emily was marked by the Outsider; perhaps she could tap into its true potential. 

Gently untangling their fingers, Lenora removed the bonecharm from around her neck. She placed the superheated fragment of bone in the palm of Emily's marked hand, manipulating her cold fingers to close around it. The action seemed pointless--a silly, childish attempt to delay the inevitable. Then her mark burned with a vibrant blue light, as Emily inhaled sharply like a drowned person being revived. 

Behaving like a heart, the bonecharm pumped ancient magic through her veins; her deep flesh wound sealed, as if stitched together by invisible threads. Emily regained consciousness, sitting up straight to behold what had once been a fatal injury. There was nothing but a pale, raised scar and the stain of blood on her skin. Awestruck to be alive, she looked down at the bonecharm still gripped in her left hand.

Lenora was overjoyed, unable to keep from throwing her arms around Emily. "It worked," she proclaimed, "I thought you were dead, but it worked!"

"I thought so, too," Emily admitted with a nervous laugh, returning her embrace before gently nudging her back to present the singing bonecharm, "I believe this one belongs to you." 

Retrieving the wonderful object from her palm, Lenora secured it back to its rightful place around her neck. "How do you feel?" she questioned, eyeing the scar; unable to cleanse her mind of the ghastly sight it had once been.

Emily rose to her feet with vigor, energetically flexing her arm and testing the mobility of her digits. Stepping a few feet away, she drew her assassin's blade, performing several fluid attacks; full range of motion had been restored to her sword arm. Turning to playfully twirl the blade, she faced Lenora and beamed, "Excellent. To the Void with the Outsider. Thank _you_ , Lena." 

Widening her eyes at the brazen remark, Lenora knew better than to join in the mockery of the god, whose moods were unpredictable as the Southern winds. Rising to her feet, she retrieved the rather expensive-looking, stylish blue jacket from the floor.

"So, what's the plan?" she inquired, handing the jacket over to Emily.

Inspecting the large tear in the sleeve, Emily replied right away, having already formulated her plan in advance, "Vasco developed a cure--or a _treatment_ , to counteract the side effects of the Addermire Solution. I need to get to his office. If he was right, this doesn't need to end with Hypatia's blood on my hands." 

Sickened by what she learned, Lenora wrapped her arms around herself and shivered; the Coup was only the beginning of the depravity Delilah and her allies were capable of. "The Duke used Doctor Hypatia," she thought aloud, "Just to create bad press...She deserves better than that, for all the good she's done for Karnaca." 

Slipping the jacket over her shoulders, Emily deeply considered her input. She nodded in agreement, equally disgusted with the Duke for his corrupt, disgraceful rule over Serkonos. 

"If there's a chance Hypatia might get better, I'll do what I can," she declared, pausing to frown as a troubling thought crossed her mind. Somewhat reproachful, she amended, "Ramsey was a disloyal, cruel dog. I would have spared him, but after what I saw him do to you," scowling at the memory, she added in a low, scornful tone, "And Alexi...He was beyond redemption. But you're right about Hypatia. I will find this cure; I swear it on my mother's headstone." 

Lenora had no reason to disbelieve the sincerity of her words; she trusted Emily to do the moral thing. "I believe you. Tell me what I can do to help."

"Go to the docks," Emily instructed, "Wait there with Meagan. I won't be long." 

"Stop treating me like a child," Lenora protested, though she hated how petulant those words sounded. Changing her tone, she expressed, "I want to help."

"You've suffered enough. And you saved my life," Emily reasoned with the regal conviction of an Empress, holding firm to her argument, "We're wasting time. Corvo would have already knocked you over the head, and put you in the skiff himself."

Despite how comical it sounded, Lenora had no doubts something like that would occur if the Royal Protector swapped places with his exceedingly more patient daughter. Based on what happened back at Dunwall Tower, in the safe room, she knew better than to push her luck. Heaving a defeated sigh, the younger girl relented, "Fine." 

Emily looked relieved and sympathetic toward her position; the girl reminded her strongly of herself, when she demanded that Corvo teach her sword fighting. "Find Meagan. We can talk more later. There's a shortcut through Hypatia's lab--climb out the window, and be careful." 

Tugging the scarf back over her face, Emily spun her blade with finality and led her by the hand from the room. Drawing the crossbow from her hip, she fired several rounds across the infested Recuperation area. Lenora watched in awe, as the bolts erupted with a flammable substance; concentrated whale oil. Swarms of bloodflies were reduced to blackened husks, as the nests burned and crumbled to ash. 

"There," Emily said, eliminating the hazard which had previously blocked her passage, "Go that way; through Hypatia's lab, out the back window. The docks are clear. I'll be right behind you." 

Having no say in the matter, Lenora obeyed her wishes, wrinkling her nose as the remaining nests caught fire; it smelled like rotting flesh being roasted on a burning pyre. Emily watched her move across the corridor, ensuring that she was honest about vacating Addermire. Several feet apart, they shared backward glances before parting ways. Emily would have to go upstairs, to reach Doctor Bartholomeus Vasco's office. What had become of him, after he bravely confronted Grim Alex, allowing Emily to escape?

Lenora reached the stairs leading down into Hypatia's lab, and quickly discovered the fate of poor Bartholomeus.

Sprawled out on his back in the center of the room, he was deceased; dark blood pooled around his shaved head. Half-nude, stripped down to his undergarments, a majority of his body was covered in bandages. They were filthy; no one cared to change them for several days. Dozens of cuts and abrasions marked his pale, semi-transluscent skin; these were minor injuries, compared to the torture he suffered right before death. Several fingers had been gnawed off his right hand, from defending himself. Bright red, jagged scratches covered his face and chest from vicious claws. The fatal wound had been inflicted on his throat; a jagged, gaping hole where the flesh had been ripped open by savage teeth.

One might assume he was mauled to death by a wild beast, not a human assailant.

Bending over in a fit of sickness, the girl wretched, but there was nothing in her stomach. Once the dry-heaving ceased, Lenora wiped spittle from her mouth. On a nearby table, she spotted a bin of clean rags. They were normally used to soak up blood and other fluids. Kneeling down beside Bartholomeus, she respectfully draped the cloth over his face. He was a gentle soul, who shared his mentor's passion for healing sick people.

Mournful over the horrid indignities the poor man endured to save another, Lenora shed a few tears. He spoke to her but once. Before the Duke put an end to her visits, she laid out in the sun reading a children's book about whales. Bartholomeus, who tended to the other patients, strolled over to converse with her. The man expressed his unusual sentiments toward the gentile beasts. Very few people shared her...sensitivies, but Bartholomeus Vasco felt strong compassion toward all living things.

Gently placing a hand over his forehead, she whispered to him, "Find peace in the Void..."

Sharp chimes emitted from the bonecharm around her neck, joined by the cold prickling down her spine, alerting Lenora to the looming threat. She glanced upwards, where the higher level of the lounge area overlooked Doctor Hypatia's lab. A dark figure perched on the ledge; upon being spotted, it pounced, landing directly behind where she knelt. 

Sharp claws dug into her scalp, as the crazed murderer roughly snatched hold of her tightly-woven braid. Lenora shrieked and thrashed, as the impossibly strong woman dragged her backwards across the floor.

" _Sweet, sweet girl_ ," the Crown Killer sneered in a harsh growl. When Lenora managed to find her feet, they yanked hard on her hair to overthrow her balance. Their other hand curled around her throat, squeezing hard to cut off her cries for help. " _What a kind, soft heart you have. Yes, sweet and tender! Peel the skin, crack the ribs! I will eat your warm heart, Lenora!"_

Mouth open in desperate gasps for breath, Lenora was unable to scream with the fingers constricting her windpipe. The Addermire Solution somehow imbued the Crown Killer with inhuman strength. With no bandages or crimson scarf masking their face, their identity was easily recognizable.

Prying at the hand around her throat, Lenora loosened their grip enough to choke out, "Doctor...Alexandria H-Hypatia! Stop, please!"

_ "No good, no good," _ Grim Alex told her. Lenora tensed when their teeth grazed her ear, expecting the psychopath to bite it off. _"The Doctor sleeps. My tired, overworked sister. She needs a break! I think I will take over for a while. Yes, just for a week or two. She is so very tired."_

The idea of the Crown Killer being on the loose indefinitely caused Lenora to shudder. She attempted to pry off the fingers woven into her braid, but Grim Alex yanked hard. The force strained her neck muscles and inflamed her scalp. Tears streamed uncontrollably from her eyes, as she squirmed in the killer's grasp. If she fought, she would injure Doctor Hypatia. If she surrendered, then she would suffer like poor Bartholomeus Vasco.

_"Delilah will be very cross with you,"_ Grim taunted her further, grabbing her around the chin. They kept a firm hold on her braid, while forcing her to look directly into their blazing red eyes. Their teeth were close enough to bite her nose, as Grim continued. " _Tsk-tsk_. _Sneaking around with Emily Kaldwin. A bad influence! Naughty, naughty children!"_

Lenora took advantage of their shift of position. She reached up, grabbing hold of their unkempt hair. Pulling hard, she felt several strands rip free in her hand. Screeching in anger, Grim returned the favor, slinging her away by her braid. 

Hard wood and broken glass; Lenora was thrown several feet into a shelf, where assorted bottles shattered upon impact. Crumpling to the floor, she choked and heaved as her bruised ribs burned. Her arms stung where shards of glass bit into her skin. Dazed and unable to breathe without pain, she collapsed on her side before rolling over onto her back. A bottle rolled around nearby. 

Blinking away tears of pain, she read the label: Chloroform. 

_"Bitch child!"_ Grim snarled in aggravation, jumping on top of her, placing their full weight over her midsection. They snatched hold of her right arm, which she raised defensively. With a cruel, sharp twist, they snapped the ligaments in her wrist. Laughing at her loud whimpering in response, Grim snatched hold of her throat. They pressed hard enough to make breathing an excruciating task.

" _Delilah told me to punish you_ ," the deranged woman shared with sadistic glee, " _And I will. Yes, oh yes! You will suffer, and bleed!"_

No other warning was given. The ravenous cannibal pounced on the exposed area of her neck, clamping their jaws hard over the sensitive flesh. Lenora screamed from the intense pain, feeling the teeth pierce through her skin. Warm blood leaked over her neck and shoulder, as the cannibal bit down harder, intent on ripping away flesh.

Frantic in their search, her fingertips tapped the floor nearby. They met unbroken glass and wrapped around a bottle. _Sorry Doctor,_ Lenora projected the thought, unable to speak. Then she swung her arm, smashing the bottle over the deranged killer's head. 

Unclamping their jaws, the Crown Killer recoiled and staggered back, huffing and growling like a beast. Meanwhile, Lenora choked on the potent cloud of blinding fumes. She rolled over onto her stomach, dragging herself a few inches before her muscles were jellied. Cheek pressed to the floor, her lungs were overwhelmed by the sedating liquid that spilled over them both.

Grim Alex, however, seemed immune to the effects of chloroform. They displayed no signs of fatigue or dizziness. It seemed Lenora only succeeded in pissing the killer off. Blood and saliva leaked from their lips, as they lifted their head to glower at Lenora. Their red eyes glowed with murderous rage, but they grinned, aware the girl was now immobile, helpless.

 _"Foolish. Very foolish..."_ Grim remarked, approaching in slow, menacing steps. 

Death seemed imminent. Lenora closed her eyes, wishing to fade away into the Void before her flesh was stripped away one piece at a time. Then she sensed a familiar magic. 

A lithe figure dropped down from the Recuperation lounge area, landing in the center of the room. With the flick of their wrist, they yanked the Crown Killer away from Lenora, restraining them in a chokehold. 

Emily had returned from Vasco's office. Swiftly pulling an object from her pocket, she jabbed the deranged, thrashing Hypatia in the neck. It was a large syringe containing what had to be Vasco's formula. Its effects were immediate; Hypatia crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Bending down, Emily checked her pulse to ensure that she was alive. Then she looked over to where Lenora was lying facedown on the floor.

"Lena," she appeared beside the barely-conscious girl, having transported herself using her Far Reach. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she pressed the soft cloth over the bleeding wound on her neck. 

Relieved, battered, and drained of energy, Lenora allowed her eyes to close. Her bonecharm sang low notes, echoing the distant whale song; the lullaby accompanied her as she sank into the tranquil blackness of the Void.


	8. A Dreadful Wale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aboard the Dreadful Wale, Lenora must confront her fears--in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://pin.it/74OV2lj <\--- What Lenora looks like after her haircut. I retouched a photo from Pinterest so it kinda looks like a painting.
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos! This chapter was fun to write. Some explanation and more character development/exploration. Enter Meagan Foster and her snide humor. I really need to play Death of the Outsider soon. Especially since I have big plans for this story... Anyways, enjoy!

Death was meant to be a reprieve; the absence of consciousness and thus, devoid of the suffering associated with mortality and sentience. Afflicted with existential pain, Lenora surmised that she was not dead, but adrift in the Void. 

A passage from one of her books came to mind, as her disembodied spirit floated in the neverending expanse of grey sky, black storm clouds, and dense mist. Honoria Cassello theorized about the mysteries of the afterlife in her work, _Speculations on the Void:_

_"Those who lead virtuous lives receive the gift of oblivion upon passing. They dissolve into the Void like mist, casting off the worrisome shackles of mortal identity to become one with the foundational materials. Wicked spirits, however, earn a cruel fate. Their punishment is to wander the Void for eternity, unable to return to this world and contact loved ones. They retain only memory enough to suffer. Imagine their pain: drifting through empty expanses alone for centuries. No sensation, no solace, no redemption. An unmoored spirit, gasping with regret in a sea of nothingness, forever."_

Over her three years of living in relative seclusion at the Grand Palace, Lenora lead a peaceful existence. What harm or suffering had she wrought upon the people of Karnaca? Perhaps it was her childish, self-absorbed perspective of the world. Her blindness and inaction; her complacency in the atrocities. Those nights she relaxed on the beach, enjoying sweet Tyvian pears, hard-working people starved. _From the lap of luxury, to bloodied rags and filth._ The Outsider was right; she had everything, yet longed for _more_. While she moped around, lamenting over lonely nights and boredom, miners and their families coughed up black spittle. Men, women, and children moaned in feverish misery, riddled with bloodfly stings; their homes were condemned, and they were forced to die in the streets. 

Duke Luca Abele held Serkonos in a chokehold, slowly crushing the life from its populace. Thriving off the poverty of his own people, he threw lavish parties and gorged himself on the finest delicacies in the Isles. And Lenora had benefited from it all.

Acceptance was the easy part. She had resigned herself to death, comfortable with relinquishing control to the directionless winds of the Void. The difficult thing to swallow was the fact she could never atone for the evils. Her curse would be the perpetual burn of regret, like a red-hot firepoker jabbed through her tender heart. 

_"What evils do you believe must be atoned for, I wonder."_

That voice tickled the back of her neck like a ribbon of black silk. Lenora was very aware of his presence; a powerful buildup of electricity, like the chaotic energy of a lighting storm. Unlike the first time he dragged her into the Void, she was freed of the constraints of her physical body. Often, she dreamt of the deep sea, where she swam with all manner of bizarre creatures unknown to science. This felt _different_ \--a dream, yet not entirely detached from reality. Her imagination did not reshape her environment whatsoever. There was a similar weightless feeling, but she was tethered by a delicate thread of awareness.

 _"Ignorance is not a wicked thing,"_ the Outsider continued with the quick wit of a Natural Philosopher, " _What does a whale know of the orphan child, scrounging through a dumpster for scraps? And what does the child know of the whale, who suffers alone within the pitiless walls of a slaughterhouse?"_

Melancholy laughter echoed throughout the Void, as Lenora found his analogy quite apt. Perhaps she was already succumbing to delirium. Incapable of speech in her dream state, she instead projected a thought, _Which one am I?_

_"Neither,"_ the Void god stated flatly. He was very close, but invisible to her; a formless presence amidst the impenetrable fog. _"You are quite the enigma, my dearest Lenora."_

Those oddly affectionate words were spoken in gentle dismissal. Lenora felt a firm tug on the thread, coaxing her out from the farthest corner of the Void, back into the realm of consciousness. 

Dull, aching pressure in her skull; that was the first sensation which proved she was very much alive. Lenora groaned, as more unpleasant feelings began to register. Her body was battered and bruised; every inch throbbed, burned, or stung.

Once she woke enough to sit upright, she hissed through clenched teeth from the painful effort. There was a hard knot in her side, where her ribs impacted with a wooden shelf. Bandages covered both of her arms, protecting the multitude of cuts where glass shredded her skin. Her right arm was wrapped firmly in a sling, keeping her broken wrist secure. Thicker bandaging was applied over her neck; that was the worst of the pain. Tiny, orb-shaped shadow creatures danced in her peripheral vision, whenever she moved her head.

Parched and starved, Lenora resisted the urge to go back to sleep. The persistent, sharp ache pounding in her temples would make that impossible, anyway.

Focusing her vision, she observed the small room, noting its steel walls and the unmistakable creaks and groans of a ship. The room belonged to someone else; their belongings were on display, including a wooden frame of organized canvases. A desk was positioned to her left, complete with a typewriter and various items strewn across its surface. To her great discomfort, there was even a glass enclosure, housing a small nest of Bloodflies.

Rising from the bed she woke up in, Lenora moved over to the desk, fighting to ignore the buzzing of the wretched insects. A platter of food was placed on the glossy wooden surface, but it would be rude to simply assume it was meant for her. Upon closer inspection, she spied the note tucked under a bottle of cider. Written by an elegant hand, in impeccable calligraphy, was her name: _Lena_.

Seating herself at the desk, she unfolded the note and read it.

_Thank you for all that you've done. Doctor Hypatia is safe, as are you, on the Dreadful Wale. It's small but sturdy. Meagan Foster is the Captain. Find her, when you feel alright to move about. I'm off to the Aventa Quarter. Kirin Jindosh is holding Anton Sokolov captive in his "Clockwork Mansion", and I have to rescue him. Who knows, maybe I'll be back before you read this. Help yourself to food and drink. Feel better._

_And for the love of the Outsider, **stay on the ship!**_

_Warm regards, your cousin,_

_Emily_

Conflicted emotions clashed within her chest like ocean waves at war with the stormy night sky. Emily seemed to genuinely trust her, and even accepted her as family. That should have made Lenora overflow with joy, but instead she felt hollow. Part of her felt like it was a falsehood. Even if Delilah spoke the truth, even if Lenora was of flesh, bone, and royal blood--she was born in the womb of dark magic, into a body that once belonged to another. Did she have the right to claim any familial ties, when her existence stood in defiance of all natural laws?

A solid knock jolted her from her reverence. Lenora glanced over her shoulder, as the person knocked once more. A polite, but firm action, loud enough to wake her if she had been asleep.

"Come in," she called, appalled by the sound of her voice; it was hoarse, scratchy, and much too weak to be heard from outside the sealed room. 

"Lenora, are you awake?" 

Recognizing their voice, she felt a twinge of fear in her gut. It was irrational, given how their circumstances had drastically changed. Nevertheless, Lenora pictured those crazed eyes, and a blood-smeared, sadistic grin. Rigid in the chair, she watched the door with her green eyes wide, afraid that it would open and reveal the psychotic cannibal. The bite wound on her neck throbbed intensely, as her heart drummed a frantic beat against her ribcage.

"It's..." the woman faltered a moment, uncertain if revealing her identity would help. Clearing her throat softly, she tried again, "It's Doctor Alexandria Hypatia. I just wanted to check your wound. The dressings should be changed soon, but it can wait until later this evening," pausing to listen for a moment, she offered a reasonable alternative, "If you prefer, Meagan can look."

Silent and frozen, Lenora felt trapped in a time loop; reliving the fear and terror, as savage teeth ripped into her flesh, unable to scream.

"Well, get some rest, and eat something. Your body needs protein and vitamins to heal."

Doctor Hypatia sounded a bit dejected, but respected her wishes to be left alone. As her footsteps receded, Lenora felt guilty for ignoring her. If Emily--and the ship's Captain, Meagan--had the confidence to allow her aboard the Dreadful Wale, then she must have recovered at least _most_ of her sanity. Even so, Lenora was unprepared for a confrontation; not while everything was so fresh in her memory.

Resolving herself to seek out Alexandria once she built up her courage, Lenora closed her eyes, clutching her bonecharm. It chirped and thrummed with reassuring vibrations. Calmed by its magic, she turned to the platter which had indeed been prepared for her. A suitable breakfast of jellied eels, a sliced apple, a small wedge of cheese, and half a loaf of dark bread. Although she was not fond of eel, she consumed it all without complaint. The cheese and crispy bread helped combat the slimy texture and over-salted flavor of the eel. Enjoying the sweet apple slices, she returned to the mattress.

Lenora felt much better after eating. She had no memory of being fed on the long voyage from Dunwall to Karnaca, but she had been sedated heavily then. The last snack she recalled eating were some chocolate candies from Emily's stash, in the safe room. After such a rich meal, she could definitely use more rest. The ache in her skull had subsided, but the rest of her body was another matter. It would take several weeks--perhaps months--for her to fully recuperate from her injuries.

Aggravated by her own weakness, she huddled on her less tender side to face the wall. Her fingers habitually smoothed over the bonecharm around her neck. Reliable as always, it provided enough warmth to stave off the chill permeating the underbelly of the ship. Gently pressing the mystical, healing object against her lips, she closed her eyes. Its unique song chimed in her ears; if only she could understand its language.

**• •| ¤ |• •**

An hour of self-imposed isolation had made Lenora restless. Unable to stand being in the confined space any longer, she decided to stretch her legs some and explore the Dreadful Wale. Her breakfast supplied her with substantial energy, but ascending the stairs proved to be a ludicrous challenge for her cramped, fatigued muscles.

 _Outsider's bones,_ she thought with frustration, amazed by how Emily was able to jump right up mere _seconds_ after she nearly became a cadaver. And yet Lenora struggled to climb a few stairs. At this rate, she would prefer laying in bed until the Void devoured the world. 

With sheer force of will and a few muttered curses, she managed to reach the main deck. The Dreadful Wale operated with a skeleton crew; there were only a handful of men, and none of them paid any mind to the disheveled nineteen year old girl. They were likely under strict orders from their Captain not to give her any guff.

Serkonos was normally warm in the Month of Harvest, but ever since Delilah usurped the throne, there was a persistent chill in the air.

The Southern winds constantly blew down the mountainside, carrying a bitter cold from Shindaery Peak. Lenora shivered, pulling the jacket tighter around her shoulders. The blouse she had worn--the one the Outsider conjured for her, before he abducted her from Addermire--had likely been discarded. After all, it had been tattered, ripped and soaked in her blood. Someone gifted her a substitute; a jacket crafted of warm, durable material. Most of it was a sweater-like fabric, soft to the touch, dyed a lovely sapphire hue. Black leather added structure to the jacket, fending off the wind chill. There was a hood, and a matching blue scarf with silver thread stitched into wave-like patterns. 

At the moment, Lenora had to wear the jacket like a cloak; her right arm was bundled over her chest, to keep her broken wrist secure. Her midriff was covered by a sleeveless black top; it was thin, but sufficient. The light fabric of her scarf offered more warmth, and hid her bonecharm from prying eyes. It was best not to risk anyone reporting her to the Abbey--especially not with the Vice Overseer occupying Karnaca.

Stepping out into the late-morning sun, she inhaled the salty air and smiled. Being outside had always brought her comfort, especially being so near to the sea. The Dreadful Wale had anchored just a mile off-shore from the Aventa Quarter of Karnaca. Lenora had only been once, to visit Jindosh's Clockwork Mansion. Back in simpler times when she was allowed to roam Serkonos, before Duke Luca Abele isolated her to the Grand Palace. He proclaimed it was for her "protection" with the Crown Killer on the loose, and the war between the Howlers' gang and Overseers raging in the streets. Resentment left a bitter taste in her mouth; in hindsight, she understood that his true reasoning was far less benevolent.

"Well, look who's up and about." 

A clear but quiet female voice came from nearby. Lenora was rarely startled; however, the woman seemed to manifest like a phantom behind her. One hand clasped over her lightly-pounding heart, she turned to face the mysterious person, whose aura was barely detectable. It was the faintest whisper of a touch; a tap on the shoulder, so light it could be dismissed as one's imagination. Not even the Outsider concealed his presence like that. He had no real need for such precautions.

"Sorry. Old habits," the dark-skinned woman apologized for sneaking up on her. Her smile seemed quite forced; she was friendly, but her mind was troubled, reluctant to engage in simple pleasantries. Tucking her right hand into the pocket of her grey jacket, she gave Lenora a quick once-over before commenting, "You're looking much better. I can't lie; I thought Emily was loading two corpses into my skiff." 

"You must be the Captain," Lenora surmised, extending her left hand politely. Her smile was not forced, as she expressed her gratitude sweetly, "Thank you, for allowing me to stay. I feel...alright." 

"You're a sharp one. Meagan Foster," the weary Captain introduced herself, accepting her hand in a feather-light grip, as if taking care not to injure her further. "Call me Meagan."

"Lena."

Releasing the girl's hand, Meagan nodded once and smoothly bypassed her, dipping her head in a leading gesture. "Come sit with me, Lena. I've got time for a chat." 

Lenora followed her over to a small table arranged on the main deck. There was a kettle of tea and two metal cups, along with a half-eaten Tyvian pear and a chunk of bread. Meagan sighed as she lowered herself into a chair, half-grimacing at what must have been her breakfast. "I never get sea-sick," she disclosed, shaking her head while poking at the pear distastefully. "It's just one of _those days_ , I s'pose."

"I know what you mean..." Lenora attempted to relate to the older woman, but got the dinstinct impression she would never truly understand. Meagan looked _tired._ Not just the 'missed a night of sleep' kind of tired--although the dark circles under her eyes definitely told that story. No, she was tired in the 'let the Void swallow me whole' sense. It was impossible not to notice her missing arm, or the scar over her right eye which permanently impaired its function.

Meagan Foster looked very, _very_ tired--and yet she had involved herself in Emily's perilous scheme to reclaim the crown. 

The older woman regarded her with a critical eye for a moment, before smiling more genuinely. "I'll bet you do," she remarked, without sarcasm; perhaps Emily told her about her relation to Delilah.

Not quite ready to discuss her blood ties with the vindictive witch, Lenora rubbed her bandaged arm and regretted doing so. Her skin was still inflamed from all the glass, and the motion agitated her wrist. Doing her best not to curse, she gnawed the inside of her cheek. 

Meagan knew how to study people without leering. She poured them both some tea, which had cooled down enough to drink, while discreetly watching the girl fidget like a thief in the presence of a guardsman.

"So," Meagan began, sliding her a cup before taking a sip from her own. "What's the deal with you and the Outsider?"

Lenora had been sipping her tea, when the question pricked her ears. Choking as her throat closed up in shock, she turned so as to avoid spitting all over the Captain. 

Meagan continued to drink her tea casually, but her eye squinted in a subtle manner; she was fighting back laughter.

"What...what do you mean?" Lenora fired a question of her own, after she stopped choking. 

Meagan pointed at the blue scarf bunched around her neck, seeing right through the fabric. "I could hear that thing from the skiff, before I even saw Emily carrying your ass down the steps. Kept me awake, too. Damn thing never shuts up." 

"Oh," Lenora placed a hand over the bonecharm to muffle its chiming, but it only seemed to grow louder in defiance. Her cheeks were on fire, as the question left her flustered.

"Don't let an Overseer catch you with that," Meagan warned in a serious, grim tone, "You're not a witch. And I know you ain't got the Outsider's mark. Overseers can't tell the difference. We all get the same treatment. They don't give a rat's ass if you just wear it 'cause it's pretty."

"I...didn't know anyone else could hear it," Lenora admitted, tracing a finger along the symbols carved into the bone. 

"Honestly, I've never heard one like yours," Meagan admitted, sounding unnerved. Her eye narrowed, somewhat reproachful, like she was highly suspicious of the bonecharm's influence. "It's like you're wearing a damn _shrine_ around your neck. It...sounds just like the Void."

Hearing that sent a chill down her spine. If the bonecharm was so easily noticed, how was it that Delilah never heard its call? Unversed in witchcraft, Lenora had no way of solving that mystery without consulting someone else. Emily was new to the whole being Marked thing, so there was no point in asking her about it. Aside from Meagan, there was only one person--well, _being_ \--who could explain the laws of the arcane.

"How do you know so much, about magic?" she ventured to ask, regarding Meagan with even more interest. The woman clearly had many secrets of her own.

Averting her eye, Meagan twisted her mouth in a way that foretold more than a few misgivings about her past. For a moment, it seemed like she would never answer. Then she lowered her face close to the table, heaving a sigh. After internally debating with herself, she straightened her back and leveled her dark eye at Lenora.

"I ran with a different crew, back in the day," she explained, contending with the Outsider in the 'who can be the most vague' contest. "My old Boss was marked by the Outsider. He could share his power with us. Some of it." 

"You had powers like Emily?" the much younger girl leaned forward, green eyes sparkling in a way they had not since the Coup. 

"Yes and no. It's different for all of us. My old boss was very... _direct_. I took after him the most," sadness and a flicker of anger crossed her features, before she banished the resurfacing memories. Looking off toward the Aventa Quarter but focusing on nothing, she quickly finished, "Emily is a crafty one; I suspect her powers are tailored to that." 

Sensing that her question dredged up things best forgotten, Lenora decided not to press despite the endless list of inquiries on the tip of her tongue. Quietly sipping her tea, she followed Meagan's gaze; the city looked peaceful from afar, but she knew there was blood in the streets.

"You never answered my question."

"Huh?"

Meagan had leaned forward on her elbow, hand folded under her chin, looking at her rather intensely. "The Outsider speaks to you. Why is that?"

Caught off guard once again, Lenora had almost forgotten about the embarrassing inquiry the Captain fired her way. "I...don't really know, to be honest." 

Laughing dryly, Meagan shook her head, unconvinced. "No one knows when it comes to the Black-Eyed Bastard," she amended in fairness, before adding, "But you can _guess_."

Deciding it was only fair to make herself vulnerable after Meagan opened up about her past, Lenora sighed. Careful of her injuries, she reached her left hand to lift away the jacket, exposing her shoulder briefly. The Captain frowned in confusion at first, before she noticed the shimmer of green and blue scales along her collar-bone. 

Meagan blinked rapidly to keep herself from staring, and looked back up to make eye contact. She was unsure what to make of it, but had the decency not to react in open disgust like most folk.

"Delilah is my mother," Lenora stated, although she suspected Meagan knew that part. "But not in the traditional sense. Three years ago, she performed some kind of ritual, and it...went wrong. I am of her blood, but not entirely human."

"By the Void..." Meagan said under her breath.

"What?"

The Captain stared at her with a knot of concern tightening her brow. "I knew it. Your face, I remember it, but..." she widened her eye, in disbelief, "Your eyes, your hair, everything is completely different." 

Lenora felt her stomach clench. "You knew her."

"No," Meagan clarified in a soft voice, "Not really, but I saw her around. She worked for an old friend of mine. Aramis Stilton."

The mood had darkened. Lenora dug her fingernails into her palm, fighting back tears of shame. A heavy feeling weighed in her chest, like her heart had been cast in iron. The Outsider's words repeated in her mind: _'The body you inhabit once belonged to another, before a tragic fall cracked her skull.'_

"Hey," Meagan called, reaching over to grip her arm, speaking in a quiet but firm tone, "Whatever Delilah has done should be on her conscience, not yours." 

"That girl..." she whispered, unable to speak much louder without sobbing, "She did nothing wrong. I took her body, but don't even know what her name was..."

Meagan sighed and leaned back in her seat; not out of aggravation, but regret. Comforting people was definitely not her strong suit. Even so, she made an attempt to be delicate, in her own way.

"Stilton told me he picked her up off the street. She was an orphan, barely eight years old then. The girl was mute. He never found her parents, so he put her to work. Stilton treated all his servants kindly, but that girl...he loved her," Meagan spoke over her mug, possibly hiding a smile, but the reluctant fondness was clear in her tone. "I could tell. Soft old bastard doted on that girl like she was his own. Even gave her a name. Olivia."

"Thank you," Lenora smiled through her tears and composed herself enough to look up. 

The Captain nodded once, seeming wrapped up in her own thoughts regarding Aramis Stilton. They sat in silence for several minutes, before Meagan looked over to her. "Almost forgot. Doctor Hypatia wanted me to look at your neck."

Oh, right. Lenora had almost forgotten about that. Remaining silent, she just shrugged off one side of the jacket and nodded. Meagan stood up and walked over, carefully loosening the bandages to peek under them. The woman had likely seen much worse, given her lack of a reaction.

"Looks alright. You'll live."

"How..." the girl cut herself off to swallow and wet her lips. "How's she doing? Doctor Hypatia."

Meagan grunted. "Well, so far none of my crew are missing any limbs. So there's that."

Lenora had yet to become cynical enough to laugh at such a joke, but she smiled at the news. "Good."

"She's doing much better than I expected. That 'cure' Emily told me about...I was skeptical, at first," Meagan elaborated, while fixing the bandages around her neck. "But that Hypatia is a resilient woman. And a _damn good_ doctor. Serkonos will need people like her, once all the dust settles. No pun intended."

The play on words made Lenora laugh. She heard Meagan chuckling behind her, before the Captain draped the jacket back around her shoulders.

"There. Anything else you need, before I head off? Emily's gonna be pissed if she drags Sokolov's ass all over Aventa Quarter, and sees the skiff ain't waiting in the channel."

Feeling her unkempt braid, Lenora made a face and said in jest, "A haircut would be nice."

Meagan scoffed, but not in a dismissive manner. "Believe it or not, I'm not a half bad barber. Cut the old man's scraggly beard, and the few strands left on his scalp. And my own," she added, running her fingers through her short hair. 

Excited for inexplicable reasons, Lenora wiggled in her seat and beamed at her, "Please! I can't stand this mess anymore."

Laughing again, more lighthearted than before, Meagan gave her an almost piteous look. "No promises that it's gonna look good."

"I don't care."

"Alright then."

Fetching a pair of scissors from her private quarters, Meagan took her below deck where there was no wind or distractions. Lenora sat at the table, while the Captain fulfilled her request; by the time she finished, Lenora felt lighter and relieved. 

"Huh," Meagan grunted with a proud gleam in her eye, ruffling what remained of her glossy black locks. "Not half bad. It suits you, Lena."

A majority of her accursed braid had been swept up off the floor and discarded. What hair remained tickled the back of her neck, with a few chin-length pieces framing her face. Shorter pieces draped over her forehead, which she played around with until they fell in a manner she fancied. Thanking Meagan profusely, Lenora spent the next five minutes staring at herself in the mirror. The Captain watched her for a few seconds, shaking her head and laughing at the girl's giddy mood. 

Dismissing herself, Meagan walked off to take the skiff out to meet Emily and Sokolov--whose room Lenora temporarily occupied. 

"I should make the old bag of bones sleep on the floor," Meagan had joked bitterly, confiding in Lenora her frustrations with the brilliant-yet-infuriating man. The Captain had been sick with worry after his abduction by the Crown Killer, months ago. Evidently he pieced together Duke Luca's involvement in the Crown Killer murders. There was no telling what indignities he endured while being held captive by his rival. Kirin Jindosh was not known for his kindness. Hopefully old Anton would be in one piece.

Having indulged her vanity enough for one day, Lenora stopped admiring herself in the mirror and returned to Sokolov's room. She planned on taking a nap--or perhaps staring at the wall, consumed by her thoughts--but that would have been too mundane.

His voice echoed in the confined space, before the Outsider manifested in a cloud of black smoke:

_"Hello, my dearest Lenora."_


	9. Wicked Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You may rush into the arms of death, Lenora, but I assure you, I will be there by your side. How else must I rephrase it, so that you may understand?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the Void, this chapter has taken me forever to write! Maybe I'm just too critical of my work, but I have done a lot of rewriting, revising and editing. (If you notice any typos please forgive me! I have strained my eyes trying to find them all). Dialogue...so much dialogue. And more plot, yay!
> 
> Chapter title based on Wicked Games by REIGN. The song reflects the tension between Lenora and the Outsider so well, I just feel it. I highly recommend listening to it because it's beautiful. (I have a whole playlist for this story, I might post it with the next chapter).
> 
> This chapter is long and slower paced, because we all need a breather. And some *ahem* "personal time" with our favorite god of the Void.
> 
> Warning for mature content!
> 
> More notes to follow.
> 
> Enjoy!

Nonplussed by concepts such as proper seating arrangements, the Outsider perched atop Sokolov's desk like it was a lounge chaise. He faced the Bloodfly enclosure, propping one boot up on the desk, while his other leg dangled. Leaning slightly over his knee, he rested his elbow against it, supporting his head with a fist tucked under his chin. He found a pen amongst the many objects discordantly strewn about, and twirled it between his long, pale fingers.

His glittering obsidian eyes focused on the pen intensely. The Void god inspected the intricate violet details painted over its gold-dipped body, as if he never beheld such a thing before. A misleading display; meant to distract from the true object of his fixation. 

_"Few people in four millennia have ever surprised me. Not even those I mark do so with consistency,"_ the Outsider spoke in a detached, analytical manner, launching into one of his philosophical speeches, " _People are quite predictable. Simple to understand. Their motivations are often self-serving, with little regard for how their choices affect others. But that is human nature; taking from one, so that another may survive in this harsh world."_

Lingering in the doorway, Lenora was reluctant to enclose herself in such a confined space with the god. One who might intend to "remove" her from the Dreadful Wale. Given the fact he only freed her from the Void to appease his ancient predecessor, the Great Leviathan, she knew better than to get comfortable. It was likely the Outsider merely _humored_ the whims of his elder. A temporary lapse in judgement, which he had come to rectify. 

"So, are you here to discuss the pitfalls of humanity?" she asked him cheekily, "Because I'm much too tired for a lesson in Natural Philosophy."

Briefly affixing her with those mystifying, pitch black eyes, the Outsider deadpanned. If he was amused by her little quip, none would be the wiser.

Rather than engaging in witty banter, he merely continued, _"And then you, Lenora, appear in the corner of my eye. No matter which direction I turn,_ _you are there. Delilah may blindfold me when I attempt to watch her--a trick I will soon find a way to work around. But you are...impossible to ignore."_

Rife with implications, his words eluded to things she did not quite understand. 

Dropping his raised knee, the god shifted his position as if to rise normally, but--predictably--he vanished from the desk. He reappeared close enough for the Void smoke to curl around her cheeks. Lenora resisted the impulse to step backwards. Her tense body language betrayed the way her stomach thrashed like a fish entangled in a net. The Outsider stood directly in front of her, wearing a blank mask of indifference. No hostility or kindness were detectable, as his eyes roved intensely over her puzzled face.

Something had changed in him since their last encounter. His expression was not reminiscent of an apathetic god, but rigid as stone; stoic as a man on the chopping block.

Was he displeased with how she handled things after he let her go? What had he truly meant, when he said there were "unforeseen consequences" to her getting tangled up in things?

Lenora much preferred the volatile nature of his anger over this dreadful guessing game. ' _The Outsider speaks to you. Why is that?'_ Captain Meagan Foster had asked her not an hour ago. There was a slim chance she would get a straight answer herself.

_"You tremble like a leaf in the wind. Are you in a great deal of pain?"_

Caught off guard by the direct question, Lenora blinked rapidly as realization dawned. They had been staring at each other for over a minute, speaking not a word.

Self awareness crept in as she glanced down at the hand clasped over her scarf, where her fingers struggled to hold onto the fabric. Tremors wracked her body as it begged for rest. The severe damage inflicted by the recently-reformed Crown Killer would take several more weeks to recuperate from.

Underneath the scarf, her bonecharm chimed noisily in the god's presence, radiating more heat than a busted canister of overcharged whale oil. _'It's like you're wearing a damn shrine around your neck'._

Motionless and silent as he awaited some form of response, The Outsider visibly scowled; a subtle downturn of his lips, which may have gone unnoticed to the untrained eye. Whether it was because of her battered condition, or something left unsaid, that remained unclear.

"Careful," she taunted him, emboldened and jaded after her traumatic experiences. Over a _very_ short period of time, her entire perspective had changed. She was not the naive, sheltered child who boarded the Duke's ship bound for Dunwall, fantasizing of royal banquets and harmonious splendor.

Squaring up to the god of the Void, Lenora prodded, "It almost sounded like you care."

Folding his arms, the Outsider cocked his head to one side and asked tonelessly, _"What ever gave you the impression I do not?"_

Incredulous and furious at once, Lenora threw caution to the wind and jabbed a finger into his chest. It was similar in effect to antagonizing one of the marble statues at the Grand Palace. The Outsider did not flinch, or blink, enduring the sharp blow as if numb to the sensation. 

"First, you kidnapped me," she reminded him, " _Then_ you threatened me, with your whole 'I'm a god'... _thing_ ," uncertain how to describe his intimidating display of power in the Void, she settled on a simple word. Losing control of her emotions, she jabbed him once more on the chest, harder than before. " _And_ _t_ _hen_ you ignored me when Emily was hurt. She almost died in my arms! So forgive me if I doubt you have a heart, Outsider!"

The Outsider ensnared her wrist in his grasp after she poked him the second time. It was a quick, fluid motion with no violence intended. Even so, he possessed immense strength and power. It was far more than lighting trapped in a bottle. Void magic undulated in the cramped space with the chaotic energy of a thunder storm. It crashed against the walls with the unstoppable vengeance of ocean waves, so forceful she trembled with the effort it took to endure. Was it intentional on his part--another test of her resolve? Or was she becoming more attuned to the arcane? 

Lenora froze as her righteous anger evaporated like steam, leaving her cold and shaking. Unblinking, his pitch black eyes bored into her; dark waters, obscurred and depthless.

Aside from being a literal god, the Outsider towered over her like most men. He was much leaner in stature than the average, barrel-chested Grand Guardsman, but he stood over six feet tall. Lenora was petite in frame and, taking into account her broken wrist, bruised ribs, and lack of weapons, she was no physical threat. The Outsider's menacing words from earlier echoed in her mind, _'I am not wrathful, but my tolerance has its limits.'_

 _"If you insist on provoking me,"_ the god spoke dispassionately, eyes narrowing ever so subtly, " _I_ _advise doing so with a blade in your hand. Not when you can barely stand, quivering like a beaten stray in the cold."_

More infuriated than frightened, Lenora wanted to snatch her hand back. She loathed the disempowering feeling of insignificance. Her mother often called her _'little minnow'._ She once found the nickname to be endearing, but now she realized the comparison referred to her place in the world. She was a harmless, tiny fish, lost in the strong currents. A feeble little thing, dwarfed by the much stronger predators lurking in the deep. 

"I'm not weak," she declared, meeting the god's unwavering black stare in refusal to be belittled.

 _"No, you are certainly not,"_ he agreed coolly, with a strange gleam in his eyes. _"Your body, however, seems to be worse for wear."_

The Outsider had not loosened his grip. His cold fingers--and the hard metal of the silver-and-black rings adorning them--pressed firmly over her bare skin. The direct contact almost _burned_. Magic tingled through her blood like a strong electric current, as he once again mended her injuries without hesitation.

Every dull ache, throb, and occasional jolt of pain faded until her body was rejuvenated. Exhaling the breath she had been holding, Lenora was relieved. It no longer hurt to breathe deeply. She was free of the muscle tension, and the constant difficulty with simple movements. 

The Outsider promptly released his hold, pivoting on his heel to resume toying with the pen he swiped from Sokolov's miscellaneous collection. He was in a dark mood; pondering intensely over something troublesome. While the god paced in the limited space, enraptured by whatever plagued his infinate mind, Lenora decided to sit quietly. Closing the door to ensure privacy, she seated herself on the old mattress. Getting comfortable, she removed her black boots and slid back to lean on a cushion against the wall, legs drawn up to her chest.

 _"I have watched broken people rise from the gutter to seek vengeance, fulfilling their personal vendettas,"_ the god disclosed, sharing his thoughts.

" _Corvo, who avenged his lover and rescued his daughter from the clutches of wicked men. He could have become the Terror of Dunwall. A force of hatred and wrath, bathing the streets in blood and carnage. Instead, he chose mercy, and fought not for vengeance, but justice. Hiram Burrows would have suffered for months in prison, before his black heart seized in his chest. Corvo spared him of that indignity, when he gave him a quick death."_

Lenora noticed the admiration in his voice, as he recounted how Corvo removed the Lord Regent from power and rid Dunwall of the snakes infesting the Imperial court. The Outsider held a great deal of respect, and perhaps even fondness, for the ill-fated Royal Protector.

 _"Daud and his Whalers turned blood into gold. The Knife of Dunwall reshaped the fate of the Empire by the edge of his blade,"_ the god continued, reflecting on another one of his marked, smiling with less warmth. 

That smile became more like a grimace as he named the witch, _"Delilah; clever, resourceful, merciless... She once slit a man's throat for a pair of shoes. His blood stained the soles, and she wore them proudly. She crushed many a fool's hearts beneath those heels. If she could not charm her way into a man's heart, she would simply pluck it out."_

Unsettled by that information, Lenora clutched her bonecharm and lowered her eyes. The Outsider had witnessed the worst humanity had to offer, and Delilah seemed to unnerve him. For three long years, she viewed her mother through a false lense of childish adoration and love; blinded to the true darkness in her cold heart. 

_"Not even our dear Emily has kept from spilling blood, however justified her actions might be,_ _"_ the god paused to mull over the usurped Empress' decisions. Tapping the golden pen to his lips, the Outsider mused, " _Emily the Just. We shall see how the history books revere her name, in time._ "

He paused then, pivoting to face Lenora before he continued, " _And yet, when placed under the same circumstances, you choose differently. One might call your actions selfless. In fact, you are selfless to the degree I fear you wish for death."_

The Outsider subjected her to his unblinking stare once more, with a solemn confusion weighing on his sharp, refined features. He bore witness to countless atrocities in his immortal lifetime, but this age of darkness in the Empire was riddled with many festering evils. There were things which even he found unpleasant to ponder.

"Why?" she blurted out, unable to properly articulate the question; it burned in her mind since their tense exchange in the doorway. 

Tilting his head like a bird--whose glossy onyx feathers were quite ruffled--the god hinged forward, as he replied with another question, " _Why do I dislike your reckless behavior?"_

"No--I mean, yes but that's not what I'm asking," Lenora huffed in exasperation. He was acting strangely, more so than usual. 

Overheating thanks to the bonecharm, she pushed the stifling jacket off her shoulders. Venting some frustration, she began ripping off her bandages; they were entirely useless, now that her injuries were healed weeks in advance. Fixing a hard glare on the strangely agitated god, she demanded to know, "Why did you ignore me, when I asked for your help? Emily was _dying_! I...I thought..." 

Lips quivering, she relived the moment of helplessness, as the dreadful, cold eel wriggled its way back into her stomach. Lenora broke eye contact with the Outsider, cursing how obvious her emotions were. Betrayal stung her heart like a vicious swarm of Bloodflies infesting her chest. Why did she feel this way? The god had never made any promises, but she expected him to at least lend a hand with Emily... Perhaps he truly was just an unfeeling spectator--or worse, a deceitful villain.

 _"You truly believe that I abandoned you,"_ the Outsider gathered, observing her distress with a noticable frown. Plumes of dense black smoke curled in the air, as the Outsider used his power to transverse himself across three feet of space. He manifested directly in front of her, sitting cross-legged on the bed, which actually dipped under his weight. There was hardly room for two; if he leaned forward, their noses would touch. 

Cold metal kissed the bare skin of her back as Lenora pressed herself against the wall. She wore only a thin-strapped black shirt--and, of course, her brassiere--meant to be layered under more clothing. Nudity was not a thing she usually worried about, and the Outsider had already seen her in a state of undress at Addermire, but there was something _intimate_ , about sitting close together on a mattress. Warmth flushed over her cheeks and neck, as she looked into two bottomless pools of ink and shadow.

" _And here I_ _thought Meagan spelled it out quite nicely,"_ the god of the Void mused with the faintest smirk. Unfolding his arms, he reached forward, taking her scarf delicately between his thumb and index finger. The soft fabric tickled the sensitive skin of her neck as he slowly pulled it away, exposing the bonecharm suspended over her chest by a twisted black cord. Careful not to be inappropriate, the Outsider pinched the scorched bone between his fingers and lifted it away. Rotating his wrist so it was nestled in his palm, he bent forward. Lenora felt her pulse become erratic, as he placed a light kiss over the bonecharm.

Black as sin, his eyes never left her face, watching her reaction with great interest.

"It's like a shrine," the beyond embarrassed girl breathed, realizing just how accurate Meagan's description had been, "That's how you can appear wherever I go." 

The Outsider nodded once, leaning back to give her space but keeping hold of the bonecharm. He caressed his thumb over the black symbols branded into the bone, written in a long-dead language. _"Meagan left her old life behind, but never lost her ability to sense Void magic._ _She was correct; this is no ordinary talisman. It was created by a very powerful witch, Vera Moray."_

Mystified by the concept of such a spell, Lenora eyed the mysterious object she had worn around her neck for over a week now. "How does it work?"

 _"She transferred the power from a shrine into a fragment of whale bone. Few can do so without destroying the object, or themselves. These symbols represent a language only the dead can speak. An invocation,"_ the Outsider explained patiently, admiring the object quite affectionately. " _ **Sýnum** ; it means 'appear' in my native tongue. **Týja** ; to assist. And beside it, **hlýðni** ; a clever word choice. **Týja** is a request, but **hlýðni** is a command. Together, the meaning becomes 'assist and obey'. __And t_ _his one,"_ he stroked the center-most symbol, the same which marked Emily's hand. " _It is my name. I recognize it, but cannot speak it. I_ _suppose Vera thought she could summon me whenever she pleased,"_ he smirked wryly at the prospect of being subject to the whims of a mortal.

"She wanted to control you," Lenora concluded, astonished by such a notion. All the same, she found herself admiring the woman's fortitude and dedication to mastering the arcane. 

The Outsider chuckled, harboring no resentment toward the witch. " _Yes, I believe that was her intention._ _Wonderful company as Vera could be, I_ _told her I was not a hound at her beck and call. She became very displeased with me after that, and_ _cast the bonecharm into the sea. I may visit whomever I choose, wherever they are in the world. But yes, shrines are a direct connection between the mortal plane and the Void."_

It became obvious that her finding the bonecharm was no coincidence. The Great Leviathan may have sung to her from the depths of the Void, but the Outsider had always been watching from the shadows. Fighting to control her breathing, Lenora recalled the moment on the beach when she felt a strong presence behind her. It had quickly vanished, before Delilah appeared with news. _'Rejoice, little minnow. We're going home. Tomorrow, we sail for Dunwall.'_

At the time, her mother's words caused her yearning heart to swell with joy. That lighthearted emotion seemed childish now. Her conscience was haunted by a cacophony of screams, and fierce brown eyes trapped within dark grey marble; cursed to live in that moment of murderous rage and desperation.

"You were there on the beach that night, in Karnaca," swallowing nervously, Lenora then reflected on what she thought had been a dream, when a phantom hand stroked over her hair. Her cheeks felt like they were being branded, as she whispered, "And in Emily's safe room at Dunwall Tower."

Black as a starless night sky in the Month of Darkness, his eyes flicked up from the bonecharm still cradled in his palm. The Outsider hummed in deep consideration, as if he struggled to recall. Tilting his head, the god pretended to be forgetful, _"Was I?"_

Mischief glistened in his guileful black eyes; a challenge for her to describe what she remembered. In a daring move, Lenora snagged the bonecharm from his hand and held it tight in her possession. It thrummed with vibrations so powerful, she felt as if she thrust her arm through a Wall of Light. She mimicked the Outsider's blank expression, but was unable to hold it with such flawless composure.

No closer to understanding the god than before, Lenora frowned, "So you knew I would figure it out on my own? How the bonecharm works."

The Outsider mirrored her frown, seeming deeply bothered that she ever thought he turned a blind eye. " _Do you believe me to be so careless or cruel, that I would cast you away with no confidence in your capabilities?_ _"_

Opening and closing her mouth, Lenora was rendered speechless. In his own way, he commended her for helping Emily neutralize the Crown Killer in a non-lethal manner. Serkonos would have been a much darker place without a compassionate soul like Doctor Alexandria Hypatia, or her life-saving remedies. The Outsider had expressed genuine admiration for the woman's intellect. Perhaps he glimpsed into a thousand possible futures, none of which benefited from her untimely demise--or the endless rampage of the Crown Killer.

Deciding not to answer the god's previous question, Lenora presented one of her own, "If you can destroy Delilah, like you said, why did you let her take the throne? And why not just let me die, if I cause such inconvenience to you?"

 _"I am four thousand years old,"_ the Outsider answered flatly, refusing to blink, " _I do not have to explain myself."_

"Then _leave_!" Lenora hissed, with such ferocity that her own heart quickened. It was rare for her to be unkind to others, but the Void god knew exactly which strings to pluck. Dozens of innocent, valuable lives were cut short on that dark day, while her own was spared and protected.

' _A sea of howling chaos'_ , indeed. Anton Sokolov was right about many things. One could be driven to madness, attempting to make sense of the nonsensical. Perhaps there was no definitive answer. No rhyme or reason to her existence. Delilah created her to be an empty vessel, and the spell backfired...Lenora could accept that, but felt like there was _more._ The Outsider imparted some knowledge to her in the Void--enough to disillusion her to the false affections and twisted half-truths. But several blanks spaces remained. What else was he withholding?

His motives, shrouded in mystery, could be explained simply as boredom. Thousands of years of watching from his metaphorical throne in the Void may have driven the Outsider to act out of impulse. Perhaps he just fancied watching the chaos unfold, up close and personal. 

The Outsider folded his arms in reaction to her abrasiveness, but refused to budge from where he sat. One dark eyebrow tweaked, as he scrutinized her intensely. " _Would the answer bring you peace, or would it only weigh your heart further."_

His tone lacked inflection; it was not a question, but an observation of two opposing likelihoods. 

Exhausted with their constant back-and-forth, Lenora had grown weary. There was no point in expending all her energy arguing with a god. Surely not one who could simply vanish like smoke once he lost interest. Forlorn and longing for a reprieve, she closed her eyes with a sigh, voicing her uncertainty, "I just don't understand what you have to gain from this."

 _"This,"_ he repeated with another low hum. _"What, pray tell, do you think 'this' is, my dearest Lenora?"_

"I..." she faltered, uncertain why she chose to say that. "I don't know what you mean."

The Outsider calmly placed his left hand on the wall beside her, leaning closer until his cheek almost nuzzled against hers.

" _Who is the liar now_ ," he taunted in a low purr, referring to when she insulted him deliberately to force a reaction. Her own bold words reverberated through her mind; ' _The Abbey got one thing right about you. You are a liar_.' 

She once thought the Outsider was oblivious to the effect invading personal space had on people, whenever he circled or brushed shoulders as he walked past. Currently, she suspected it was deliberate. A game--or experiment of sorts--intended to trigger all the various reactions different individuals displayed when uncomfortable...or, well, _provoked._

 _"Most people cower and plead when I appear to them in their dreams, fearing that I will corrupt their spirit,"_ he imparted with a sigh, solemn in recollection of the centuries of fear and misconceptions perpetuated by the Abbey. " _When they wake, they recite their precious Seven Strictures, and self-flaggelate for attracting my attention."_

"The Abbey," Lenora breathed, if only to drown out the ceaseless fluttering of her heartbeat, "Their teachings are outdated. And their methods are nothing short of barbaric. I know the Strictures by heart, but I never understood the point of it all. To fight one's own nature is ridiculous."

The Outsider smiled for a brief second, appreciative of her honest opinion, before he continued quietly, no less perturbed, _"Some flatter me with insincere praise, meant to stroke my ego. They hope to gain something; a gift of wealth, or power. I care not to indulge such petty wants or fleeting desires,"_ curling his hand into a fist, the cool-tempered lilt of his silky voice became rigid and scornful, _"Others_ _perform sacrificial rites in my name. Offerings of blood and bone are laid at my feet. They ask for my knowledge, and insight into their future. I hear their despicable whispers, even now."_

It was safe to assume why he would despise such barbaric rituals like human sacrifice. 

Entranced by his unexpected openness, Lenora listened in polite silence. Setting aside her frustration with his cryptic riddles and secrecy, it became increasingly evident why he came to visit. The god of the Void was _lonely_. Few people across the Isles were brave enough to erect shrines in his honor. Even fewer dared to carry around runes or bonecharms in their pockets.

The Abbey of the Everyman were dedicated to their bloody crusade. Their zealotry compelled them to kick in every door, overturn every mattress, and pry away every floorboard to find evidence of witchcraft. Once the Overseers eradicated all the "heretics" from the Isles, the Outsider would have no connection to the world. He would be alone in the cold of the Void, accompanied only by the mournful wails of the Great Leviathan.

Possessed by her empathy for the god, Lenora gingerly touched his cheek. The disgruntled scowl vanished as he blinked twice, looking rather stunned by her action. Fearing she crossed some unspoken boundary, she almost recoiled, but he lifted his free hand to press it over hers. 

To her shock, the Outsider allowed his eyes to close. Blinking seemed more like a conscious effort, an informal manner of communication, rather than a natural reflex to him. He _rarely_ blinked. To see his eyelids shut for more than a brief instant, Lenora appreciated how vulnerable he made himself. It was then she noticed how lovely his eyelashes were; thick, glossy black, just like the lustrous hair atop his head. 

" _Corvo was never one for conversation. He distrusted me. In his eyes, I was a haughty noble; to be placated and heeded, but never spoken to as an equal,"_ the Outsider confided in her, eyes remaining closed. He sounded disappointed, almost sad in that knowledge. His mood darkened further, as he continued morosely, " _Daud was different in many ways. Rougher around the edges. Unbridled by the decorum of high society. Yet, the Knife of Dunwall never dared wag a defiant tongue. Not even once he grew to despise me with the fervor of an Overseer."_

After the last sentence passed his lips, he chuckled; a humorless sound, provoked by dark thoughts. 

Tortured and forcibly sacrificed, widely feared and hated, looked upon as some unfeeling, apathetic shadow whispering from the Void... The Outsider lived a more tragic existence than most. Lenora regarded him with sympathy as she ventured to say, "It sounds like you need a friend."

Opening his eyes, the god tilted his head a fraction. " _Perhaps,"_ he responded in a non-committal manner. Dark eyes glistening like two black river-crust pearls, they peered deeply into her very soul, _"You cast yourself in harm's way, endangering your own life for others. Reckless self-sacrifice. You do not fear death. Nor do you fear me."_

Clinging to her brave veneer, Lenora squared her shoulders back and lifted her chin for good measure. Forcing her green eyes to narrow, she asked brazenly, "Should I?"

With a light chuckle of amusement, the Outsider leaned forward to speak against her ear, _"You provoke and challenge me, when even the bravest men are afraid speak freely. Apart from you, dearest Lenora, no one has ever treated me as their equal. Perhaps I should be the one to fear you."_

Swallowing as her mouth had gone dry, Lenora shivered. His breath ghosted over her jaw and neck, cold as the directionless winds of the Void. The smell of sea breeze mingled with that of fragrant smoke and ash; a bouquet of flowers burning on a memorial pyre. It clung to his midnight black clothes, and his alabaster skin. Inhaling a shaky breath, Lenora attempted to calm her racing pulse, which proved to be difficult when the god of the Void loomed so close.

Where, in the name of the Great Leviathan, was he taking this? 

Hands pushing against his chest, Lenora reclaimed some breathing space and leveled a discerning stare with his depthless obsidian eyes. Those eyes stared back, as if intending to swallow her like the Void itself. Her emotions were a perplexing, unstable concoction of unknown ingredients, which most certainly should _never_ be combined.

The life she had been groomed for at the Grand Palace was comfortable, and safe. Not this constant tooth-and-nail scramble for survival, or being _involved_ with a god who likely had ulterior motives. One moment, he embodied the inscrutable, mysterious and emotionally-detached god of folklore. The next, he seemed almost human, confessing to things he should not be capable of feeling.

Defenses flaring up like an Arc Pylon, she glared at the god suspiciously, "What kind of wicked game are you playing, Outsider?" 

_"Game?"_ he repeated, cocking his head as if the accusation was unfounded. Lifting one pale hand, he brushed his knuckles along her cheekbone. Then he lightly grasped a lock of shortened black hair beside her ear, curling it around his fingertip. _"You may throw yourself into the arms of death, Lenora, but I assure you I will be there by your side. How else must I rephrase it, so you understand?"_

The implications of his admission made far less sense than her theory of a bored god, casting his lot in with a usurped Empress and a ragtag group of mortals. Lenora was not daft. She could read between the lines just fine, but she was tired of his vague riddles. Wishing for him to speak plainly for once in his existence, she asked, "What are you saying?"

The Outsider briefly turned his head away and muttered something in his mother tongue. A curse phrase, gruff in nature with an enchanting lilt to its pronunciation. No one amongst Duke Luca's court spoke in such a language, not even visiting dignitaries from the distant, mysterious lands of Pandyssia. ' _A language only the dead can speak.'_

Before Lenora could ask what in the Void he just said, his lips suddenly pressed against hers. Tentative at first, mimicking the first time she had kissed the bonecharm; just a taste, to satiate his curiosity.

Duke Luca Abele had been more than overprotective when Lenora was under his charge. No male servants were permitted to attend to Lenora's private quarters--not even to mop the floors, or beat the curtains. Guardsmen were not to converse with her. Those who directed even a wandering gaze her way were replaced, never to be heard from again. Her only romantic experience was limited to the rather scandalous books she pilfered from the library. The men in those stories were beautiful as polished jewels, mysterious and passionate in ways no mortal could hope to be. 

Suffice to say, she had never been courted--and the fucking _Outsider_ was kissing her. 

Swept up in the moment, Lenora clung onto the collar of his jacket and returned the kiss. The Outsider brought up his other hand to caress her cheek tenderly, easing back to allow her to seize control. Soft and pliant, his lips parted, inviting her to deepen the kiss. Their bodies were separated by several inches, as he sat with his legs folded while she leaned against the wall.

Desperate to be closer, Lenora brashly pitched herself forward to straddle his lap. There was no acting shy from inexperience then; she knew exactly what she wanted.

Seizing her by the hips, the Outsider made a sound caught between a sigh and a growl. It was not a complaint, but encouragement. Lenora tugged at the front of his black jacket, loosening it enough to slip her hands underneath. Curious to see what he looked like under all his fancy clothes, she began unfastening the buttons of his shirt; a painfully tedious endeavor. The Outsider noticed her struggling halfway and assisted by ripping the shirt open, sending buttons scattering. Native Serkonans rudely joked about pale complexions being undesirable, but Lenora saw beauty in all things. No scars or imperfections marked his milky white skin; it was almost pearlescent. 

Eyes closed, the Outsider hummed a note of contentment as she glided her fingers over the lean muscle of his bare chest. " _No one has touched me like this before,"_ he admitted without shame, although there was an underlying sadness and longing.

Lenora was stunned to hear those words. He was a very young man when the cult sliced open his throat. Surely there must have been a few women, or even men, who struck his fancy over the centuries. "Are you saying that you never..." 

_"No, I have never been intimate,"_ the Outsider confirmed, taking hold of her left hand. Delicately tracing a pattern over her unmarked skin, he spoke quietly, _"Those I mark are always given a choice; I never force my will upon anyone. My interest in you goes much deeper than with those I have marked._ _What I offer you is something I have given to no one else. Do you accept?"_

Glistening with lust, his black eyes lured her in with dark temptations. Their break for conversation had done nothing but intensify the heat pulsing through her veins. Lenora could hardly breathe without inhaling the fragrant smell of earth and smoke clinging to his clothes and skin, as the simplest touch left her aching. Straddling his lap, she was in no position to refuse.

Latching onto the clothing still bunched around his shoulders, she kissed him. The Outsider accepted her non-verbal answer, granting her free reign to claim his mouth. Distracted by the sensual way he massaged her back and shoulders, Lenora was only vaguely aware of being pulled into the Void. It was similar to submerging oneself underwater, if it were possible for a gust of wind to simultaneously blow one's hair.

Her green eyes stared up through clouds of silver mist, beholding the strange grey and violet skies of the Void. The Dreadful Wale was gone; they were no longer sitting on the worn out mattress in the cramped space of Sokolov's quarters. In the place of the interior hull of the ship was a gigantic tree. Its thick, weather-worn bark grazed the bare skin of her shoulder blades, as the Outsider gently pushed her against the ancient tree.

 _"I presume you won't object to being kidnapped this time,"_ the Outsider teased in that spine-tingling, silky voice of his. He placed soft, lingering kisses along her collarbone, unbothered by the scales. The coolness of his lips over her feverish skin elicited a soft moan. The bonecharm strung over her chest seemed to grow hotter, the longer the god was near. Weaving his ringed fingers through hers, he pinned both of her arms to the trunk, regarding her with those ever-inquistive, glittering black eyes.

"What is this place?" she asked him, noting how different their surroundings were compared to the other parts of the Void. The first island he transported her to after abducting her from the Addermire Institute was isolated, adrift in the silver mists, with no defining features. The sacrifical altar had a jagged structure, with a foreboding atmosphere; the air had been thick and overbearing with toxic energy. This new place was colorful and tranquil; full of life, as blue-and-violet birds flitted amongst the foliage.

Gnarled from centuries of enduring strong winds, the ancient tree's long branches twisted in odd directions. Vines draped from its contorted limbs, bearing vibrant blue-and-purple flowers with curled petals. Its thick roots protruded from the dark green moss surrounding its base, reaching knobbly fingers toward a stream a few feet away. The water flowed naturally past the tree, curving gently to the right before it dropped over the ledge of the floating island. Rather than flowing down like a waterfall, the stream faded like a smudged painting, as stray droplets floated upwards. The water closest to the tree appeared clear, with a blue tint, before it gradually faded into grey, blending with the sky.

Lenora marvelled at the beauty of the little oasis, and noted the lively grass sprouting from what would normally be featureless slate rock. Underneath them was a soft bear-fur blanket, accompanied by a few hides rolled up to serve as pillows. 

_"A memory, preserved in the Void,"_ the Outsider replied, observing her reaction to the vibrant scenery with a faint smile. _"The streets I walked as a boy were filthy, and dangerous. Here in the forest, I felt safe. I would come to sleep_ _, and even tried my hand at fishing. The fish were elusive, but I could bathe and rest without fear. I believed no one could harm me, with the great tree standing guard."_

Just as when he described being sacrificed on the altar, the Outsider unveiled a glimpse of the humanity which had been robbed from him. Lenora imagined him as a defenseless young boy, scared and alone. Pressed against the bark, she could sense the risidual energy of memories flowing up through its strong roots. Hunger pains, after going days without a meal. Sore, angry welts from being kicked and beaten into the mud, unwelcome and spat upon. Fear of the night, mingled with a resilient hope for a better morning. The weary, wise old tree had been a source of familiarity and comfort, for a boy with nothing but his will to survive.

"Why not visit the place?" she asked, wondering exactly where the great tree stood. "In the physical world."

 _"It does not look this way, anymore,"_ the god answered in solemn reverence, " _The tree was burned and mutilated, four thousand years ago."_

Puzzled over why such a marvelous, beautiful thing would be so callously destroyed, she frowned, "Why was it burned?"

" _It was the cult's doing,"_ the Outsider replied, in a cool monotone, _"They_ _did not wish for me to have any worldly ties. It might have interfered with the ritual. This tree was the closest thing to a home I knew. And so, it was cleansed in fire and uprooted, until nothing remained but ash."_

"How cruel..."

" _Do you pity me, Lenora?"_ the god inquired with a wistful smirk, ever so curious. 

"No," she answered with the shake of her head, "Pity is when one looks down upon another. I may have lived in a palace, but I never _pitied_ anyone. When I see others in pain, my heart aches." 

_"Does it?"_ the Outsider cocked his head, seeming fascinated by her perspective on the concept. " _What a strange affliction. To have a heart burdened with guilt, for others' suffering of which you are not responsible."_

Releasing her right hand, he splayed out his fingers and laid his palm over her chest. In doing so, the Outsider tilted his head and blinked, as if surprised by something. Making no remark to voice his thoughts, he merely focused on whatever piqued his interest. Odd, shrill notes emitted from the bonecharm, joined by the god's thoughtful hum. Pinned between her breastbone and the cold skin of his palm, the powerful talisman became unbearably hot. Excessive amounts of magical energy gathered in the fragment of whalebone, before strong ripples expanded outwards like the shockwave of a discharging Arc Pylon.

"What...did you just--" Lenora gasped, hardly able to speak as her body shook with the power she was unable to control. Whale oil had seemingly replaced the blood in her veins, burning deep into her bones, so intense that she feared she would spontaneously combust.

 _"Interesting,"_ the Outsider mused, observing the results of his experiment with deep fascination, " _It would seem that you are a conduit."_

What an absolute, inconsiderate _bastard!_ Would it have pained him to ask permission, or at least give fair warning before testing his theory? Her blood was heated to the point of boiling under her skin, as she used her free hand to exact some vengeance. The Outsider tolerated the palm which struck his cheek, blinking once, as his expression defaulted to its natural state of indifference. Though she caught the slightest lift of a dark eyebrow; a silent inquiry.

"How dare you?" she demanded fiercely; she felt quite violated, like she was an unwilling test subject. 

" _I have upset you,"_ the god oh-so-astutely surmised, having the decency to look remorseful. " _You must believe that I would never intentionally cause you harm, Lenora."_

Huffing out a breath, she closed her eyes and focused on letting the overwhelming waves of energy flow out gradually. Chirping furious protests of its own, the bonecharm suspended around her neck expelled the excess magic and calmed back down into its usual rhythm. 

" _Magic flows through you like it does through the leviathan of the deep,"_ he explained in a smooth, silky tone, attempting to placate her anger, _"Whales exist simultaneously in the Void and the physical world. That is why their bodies contain magical energy. After our conference with the Ancient One, whom you call the Great Leviathan, I began to suspect your connection with the Void was similar,"_ gently taking hold of her closed fist, he stroked a thumb over her knuckles. " _Forgive me, if I was invasive or impolite. I only seek to understand the nature of this...bond, we share."_

The god of the Void, feared and revered across all the Isles, imploring for her to forgive him of his transgression. Lenora almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but pouted her lips stubbornly to avoid smiling, regarding the Outsider through narrowed green eyes. Not quite ready to absolve him, she posed an important question, "What does it mean, to be a conduit?"

 _"You know what it means, dearest Lenora,"_ was his solemn reply, with a strange look in his all-seeing eyes.

Despite the heat still pulsing through her blood, Lenora felt cold. "Delilah...if she leeches from me, she would be unstoppable."

The Outsider did not blink as he declared with the confidence of a four thousand year old god, " _I will not allow that to happen."_

"Why not?" she asked in a listless tone, unable to comprehend what compelled him to protect her, of all the people in the world. 

Cursing in his native language once more, the god leaned in to silence her questions with a passionate kiss. Coaxing his tongue past her lips, he unleashed the ravenous nature of his affection. In Sokolov's vacant quarters aboard the Dreadful Wale, he exercised restraint and patience. Now, he embodied the insatiable, devouring might of the Void itself.

Tendrils of black smoke coiled around them, as he used a sneaky transversal to switch positions. Lenora felt the smooth, ribbed texture of the tree bark vanish, replaced by the soft fur blanket draped over the mossy ground underneath. The Outsider hovered over her for a moment, smirking like a deviant as he wedged a knee between her legs. Nudging them apart, he lowered himself down, evenly distributing his weight. Supported by his knees, he pinned her arms down and began rolling his hips in a slow, methodical rhythm. 

Lenora opened her mouth to speak, but in the place of words came an embarrassing sound, caught between a whimper and a sigh. The Outsider hummed a low note in response, lips pressed to her throat; the vibration sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. Kissing along the chord of her neck, he teased every inch of skin until he found the right spot to focus on. Parting his lips, he applied pressure with his tongue, swirling it in small circles. When the skin was properly wet, he exhaled a deliberate, chilling breath that ignited a tingling heat deep in her core. Then he sealed his lips over the tender flesh with hard suction, repeating the action until she was squirming underneath him.

For a god who never had intimate experiences, he certainly knew how to reduce a woman to a mess of moans.

 _"You will find me capable of many things, Lenora,"_ he spoke in a seductive growl, unlike any tone he ever used before, once again interpreting her thoughts, _"I am a god, but I was once a man. I know what to do."_

Momentarily releasing her wrists to rear back, he relented only to remove the restrictive clothing bunched around his shoulders. Casting away his signature black jacket and white shirt, he left his entire torso exposed. Hooking two fingers under the hem of her trousers, he listened and watched closely for any protest before unfastening the buttons. Lenora knew he could snap his fingers and make all her clothes vanish, but he was taking it slow, manually stripping her naked one garment at a time. Tugging the trousers loose from around her hips, he paused for a heartbeat before pulling them off completely. 

Readjusting his stance so he knelt directly between her legs, the Outsider gripped her thighs and hitched them up over his hips. Leaving his trousers on, he pressed forward, teasing her with gentle nudges. Lenora sat up to place her hands over his chest, inadvertently brushing her fingers over his nipples. Freezing in his motions, the Outsider blinked in reaction to the contact. Curious, she repeated the action, gently massaging his nipples, drawing the quietest of moans as he briefly tipped his head back. Emboldened, she experimented further, lightly pinching one before rubbing it harder. 

In the blink of an eye, Lenora was forced down onto the blankets, flat on her back. Pinning her with his full weight, the Outsider interlocked their fingers before he demonstrated his sexual prowess, banishing whatever doubts she might have. His powerful thrusts were almost primal, jostling her roughly against the cushion of fur and undergrowth, forcing loud, shaky moans from her mouth. 

_"What beautiful sounds you make, Lenora,"_ he spoke close to her ear, in that low, silky growl which raised the hair on the nape of her neck, _"I wonder how you will moan when I'm inside you."_

Seeming to have infinite stamina for teasing, he rocked against her with softer thrusts, kissing her slowly. The constant friction over the thin fabric of her panties left her body quivering, and he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. It was quite unfair, considering he was immortal and needed no breaks to breathe. Whenever he sighed or inhaled to speak, it was always controlled. His breath was even, but she heard the occasional low groan, as he too was losing patience for this game.

At this rate, though, it would take another thousand years for him to remove his damn trousers.

Lenora was prepared to beg for him to take her right then, but the tranquil atmosphere was shattered by a violent, torrential wind. The strong presence felt like a thousand needles pricking into her skin, with sharp points dipped in a corrosive poison. A very powerful, vengeful force had entered the Void.

The Outsider sensed the intrusive presence in that same instant; his black eyes narrowed sharply, appearing hostile and angry for the first time. Lenora had only angered him once, and the expression he wore then had been quite mild compared to now. There was only one being alive whom he found insufferable.

Quickly transversing both Lenora and himself away from the tree, the Outsider clutched her close against his side. Black smoke enveloped their half-naked bodies, taking form into clothing. Lenora was relieved to have her dignity preserved, but her cheeks were still aflame. The Outsider's refined jaw was rigid, as he focused his unwavering gaze on the opposite side of the stream. Indigo flames were already flickering across his shoulders; like someone had struck a match.

Before the intruder revealed their self, the god of the Void greeted them in a frigid but civil tone, " _Delilah."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the language I used to translate the symbols is Old Norse. For anyone curious, this was the site I used: (https://www.vikingsofbjornstad.com/Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm)
> 
> Why Old Norse? Well, partially because I have Scandinavian heritage, so I'm quite fond of Norse mythology. The other reason: I just enjoy the headcanon that the Outsider's people were sea-faring folk, like Vikings. There seems to be a form of consensus in the fandom, so I'm rolling with it. 
> 
> On a different note, there will be some divergence from canon. The Outsider is a character of his own, so I plan on developing him more as an active participant rather than just a bystander. I wrote a TON of lines for him in this chapter and it's been such a fun challenge, balancing out his personality and showing the changes he's going through. DH1 and DH2 show BIG differences, so I'm just expanding on that.
> 
> Expect an Outsider POV at some point. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and leaving kudos!


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